‘Still,’ said Rebecca, as she raised a hand only slightly and a waiter came over in an instant, a skill among beautiful women that Achilles had long envied. ‘If my mother was a novelist, or had her name on the front of novels, at least, I’d want to read them.’

‘What does your mother do?’ he asked, as he finished his first beer and the second was placed before him. He didn’t normally drink lager, preferring rum and Coke, but he didn’t want to make any suggestion that she’d ordered wrong.

‘She’s a minister,’ said Rebecca.

‘A minister? Like a priest?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gosh!’

‘I don’t think I’ve heard anyone say gosh before outside of an Enid Blyton book.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever said it,’ admitted Achilles. ‘I don’t know where it came from. I feel embarrassed now. I should have said fuck me.’

‘Don’t be embarrassed, I thought it was cute.’

‘Really? Gosh!’

‘Don’t milk it. Anyway, yes, she’s a minister, and I think I told you that Dad is a chiropodist.’

‘Cool.’

‘Is it?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid to say anything now. Are they still together?’

‘No, they split up last year.’

‘That must have been difficult for you.’

‘It was vile.’

He nodded. The conversation was becoming quite personal and he wasn’t accustomed to such talk.

‘I suppose I’m lucky that my parents are still together,’ he said. ‘I’d hate it if they broke up.’

‘You have a tendency to do that, you know,’ said Rebecca.

‘To do what?’

‘To take something that somebody is telling you about themselves and then turn it around so the conversation returns to you.’

‘That’s because I’m an asshole,’ he said, lifting his drink and taking a large draught. His phone beeped in his pocket with a text message, but he ignored it for now.

‘It could be that,’ replied Rebecca. ‘Or it could be that you’re uncomfortable learning too much about other people. Delving too much into their lives. Because if you know they’re hurting, then maybe you’ll feel obliged to help in some way.’

‘That makes me sound like a better person than I think I am.’

She leaned forward and held his eyes with hers. ‘You don’t think you’re a good person, Achilles?’

He swallowed, feeling the blood inexplicably rush to his face. He never blushed, especially not in front of girls, and didn’t know quite what to do. He leaned forward now too, hoping that they might kiss, but instead she sat back and looked away, glancing at another boy, almost as handsome as Achilles, who was passing by.

‘I think I’m okay,’ he said, trying to reclaim her attention. ‘But I could be a lot better. I don’t cheat on my girlfriends, for one thing. If I don’t want to be with someone, then I’m not.’

His phone beeped again but he still ignored it.

‘Will you excuse me?’ asked Rebecca. ‘I need the loo. And someone’s clearly keen to get your attention. Maybe it’s whoever sent you the snaps of her tits last night.’