‘Oh, Cormac.’ I can’t help but laugh at the futility of it all.

‘And my sister, she’s becoming more and more like Mum every day. She’s acting crazy, always saying someone is outside the flat. She’s the one who ought to be seeing you.’

‘She thinks someone was outside of your place?’

‘Yeah, I told you. She’s obsessed with this bald man. I think he’s homeless, but she swears he’s been watching us.’

A bald man? Could it be Joe? What would he want with my other clients?

‘So what about you, Margot? What’s happening in your life?’

Back to the questions, always the questions from Cormac. That’s what makes him a charmer, because people’s favourite subject is themselves.

‘Nothing is happening in my life, Cormac. The same old.’

‘How’s the family?’

‘They’re good.’

‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘You just did.’

‘A personal question?’

I take a long sip of my wine. The glass is almost empty.

‘Do you still love your husband?’

The question is a clean cut, and it sinks in close to the bone. I feel heat rushing to my cheeks.

‘That is not any of your business, Cormac. But the answer is yes, of course I do.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, with a laugh. ‘I didn’t mean to make you defensive.’

I pause, my cheeks hot. I think more deeply about the question. Yes, the way someone might love their brother. Yes, but partly because of how much he wants me. Yes, I love the fact I have someone like him.

‘It’s entirely inappropriate, Cormac. You know that.’

‘I just know there are different types of love and you’ve got kids and it’s been a long time.’

‘I said this isn’t appropriate.’

‘Sure. I just wish I had that. I wish I had a woman like you for seventeen years,’ he says, before draining the last of his wine. ‘Excuse me.’ He steps away from the table, towards the bathrooms. I take a moment to check my phone, I text Gabe.

Stuck at the office, be home asap.

Sent. Cormac comes back a few moments later. Then, before I know it the waiter is there, with two more glasses of wine.

‘Oh, no,’ I say. ‘I’ve got to go Cormac. I can’t be here with you any longer.’

‘Just another glass,’ he says. ‘It won’t hurt. Text your husband and tell him you’re having a drink with a friend.’

‘I’ve already texted Gabe,’ I say.

‘Gabe?’ Shit, I think. I gave him yet another personal detail.

‘Yes, I texted my husband.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’