A loud guffaw drew my attention back to the tables at the rear. A large man had appeared beside Derek, appearing to dwarf him, and dominating the conversation across both tables with expansive hand gestures, making everyone laugh. There was a slim, blonde woman with him. I wondered if this was Derek’s brother and his wife.

“It must feel good, doing a cycle like this, doing something useful,” I remarked.

“Maybe.” Jude took another drink from his pint and placed it back on the bar with the four-tap routine. “My mother had Alzheimer’s. She died a few years back and the girls have raised money ever since. It did seem to help them get over her death.”

My first thought was, what a coincidence: first Derek and now Jude with family members suffering from dementia. Then it hit me: most people involved in the cycle had probably been affected in some way by the illness they were raising money for.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Jude gave me a wry look. “We’ve moved past that, on to the next crisis. Lissa’s little boy is sick too – he has childhood leukaemia. It’s Sue who’s doing the cycle. Lissa wouldn’t be able to.”

“God, it sounds like you’ve had a rough time of it.”

Jude rubbed his eyes. “Ah, the young fella is doing well. We think he’ll be okay.” He had dark circles as if he didn’t sleep well. “But Lissa’s bastard of a husband has just left her. As soon as there was any talk of bone marrow donation, he couldn’t handle it.” He shook his head and looked down into his glass. “People always can disappoint you, can’t they? You think you have the measure of them, and they go even lower.”

I said nothing, feeling a little awkward, standing there holding Maeve’s drink, ice gradually melting in the glass. I glanced down at my own table and saw that Maeve was on her feet. I realized that she might have left by the time I got back.

Jude cleared his throat, noticing my discomfort. “Don’t mind me.” He closed one eye and nodded at his glass with a half-smile. “Too much of this. Oversharing with a stranger. Not a good look.”

Before I could respond someone clapped him loudly on the back. “Not going to join us, Julian?” It was the large man from the back table.

The sweaty sheen on the man’s brow showed that Jude wasn’t the only one who’d had a bit to drink. But he had surprisingly clear blue eyes, his polo shirt almost the same shade, the effect only slightly marred by the stomach straining over his belt. Overweight but handsome, a touch of the playboy gone to seed.

But Jude’s face had hardened. He didn’t meet the man’s eye. “I’m fine here, thank you.”