Achilles liked the first, tolerated the second but could have done without the third. When he was thirteen, the entire family had been photographed by a paparazzo on a beach in Spain and one of the tabloids had run pictures of a nearly naked Achilles, who, already feeling awkward with the onset of puberty, had felt utterly humiliated when he saw his scrawny body, clad in a pair of ill-advised yellow Speedos, spread across several pages of the paper. He’d been bullied mercilessly for it at school, but the embarrassment had provoked him into joining a gym, where, with very little effort, he’d put on some muscle and developed a six-pack. Within a few months, he’d grown into his looks and the teasing ended as a succession of girlfriends began showing up at his front door.

‘I happen to know that man,’ said Jeremy, following Achilles’ gaze towards the television set.

‘Mick Jagger?’

‘No, George Cleverley.’

Achilles glanced across the table, intrigued.

‘Oh yes?’ he asked. ‘He’s famous, right? Well, I suppose he must be if he’s on TV.’

‘He’s very famous. Has been for decades. Started out as a journalist but quickly made it on to the Beeb. Has an opinion on everything, of course. Loves the sound of his own voice. You know, the amount of times he’s—’

He paused for a moment before making the zip sign across his mouth.

‘Oh, come on,’ said Achilles, giving him his most flirtatious smile. ‘You can’t tease me like that.’

‘No, Nick, I shouldn’t. It’s a private matter.’

‘Who am I going to tell? It’s not like I move in those circles.’

‘I can’t, I’m sorry,’ said Jeremy. ‘It’s a confidentiality issue. I’d get into a lot of trouble at work if anything was to get out.’

Achilles sat back and considered his options. He’d been playing this game long enough to know that it was pointless trying to push anyone to reveal anything that they’d prefer to keep private.

‘Speaking of which,’ he said, ‘you didn’t tell me what it is you do. For a living, I mean.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Jeremy. ‘I’m, you know, in business.’

‘What sort of business?’

‘I suppose you could call me a businessman.’

‘That’s very broad.’

‘What about you? What do you want to be when—’

‘When I grow up?’

‘When you’re older,’ he said, his face flushing a little.

‘I don’t know yet,’ replied Achilles. ‘With my background, it’s not easy to have ambitions. I might end up working in food.’

‘A chef?’

‘No, McDonald’s.’

‘I’m sure you can aim higher than that.’