‘Jesus,’ he said, looking up. ‘Did you ask the barmaid for a urine sample?’ One of the women at the table turned her chair away from him. The other gave Charlie a look that made it clear he was nothing to do with her.

His book was by Stephen Hawking, A Brief History of Time. A bookmark was sticking out of it suspiciously close to the front cover. Kerry had probably read all of five pages.

‘Is it having a girl’s name that makes you so unpleasant, or your failed career as a comedian?’

He laughed. One of the most irritating things about him was that he seemed to enjoy being insulted. ‘I’m not the only one with a failed career. Yours is about to go down the tubes, from what I hear. And your fiancé’s.’

‘How did you know I was engaged?’ Charlie asked lightly. You had to pretend not to care with Kerry. That was the trick. The more he saw he was getting to you, the more he stuck the knife in. On the plus side, you got to throw as many knives as you liked in return. He was the only person Charlie knew who required and deserved nothing in the way of tact and consideration.

‘I make a point of following your progress,’ he said. ‘Regress. Don’t tell me you’re seriously going to get hitched to that humourless pillock Waterhouse?’

‘That’s the plan,’ Charlie told him.

‘A damn poor one, if it’s true. I for one don’t think you’ll do it. You want all the razzmatazz of an engagement, but you’ll save yourself at the last minute. I bet you’ve not set a date yet.’

Charlie took a deep breath. ‘Whether we have or not, it’s no skin off your diary. You’re not invited. Sorry.’ She flashed him a false smile.

‘Don’t be,’ said Kerry. ‘I couldn’t come anyway—I’d be too embarrassed for you.’

‘You’ve never spoken to Simon, have you? He wasn’t sure who you were.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m sure who he is. A brain in a vat. Walk-on-water legend as a detective, non-starter as a husband. Does he know about us?’

Charlie laughed. ‘Yeah. He knows about us, as in me and the several hundred men I fucked before I got engaged to him. One of whom happened to be you.’

‘Ouch,’ Kerry squealed. ‘Momma, you’re the dirtiest.’

‘If you’re asking does he know about you specifically . . . As I said, he’s not even sure who you are.’