They fell into a comfortable conversation – small talk, which made Mark feel on safer ground – until the food arrived. Natasha attacked it like she hadn’t eaten in days, while he tried to take his time and not spill sauce down his chin.

‘So, when you told me you were a detective, I thought you might solve murders and stuff like that,’ Natasha said after a few minutes demolishing a burger. She was already reaching for a slice of garlic bread, before closing the Styrofoam lid on the container. ‘Like on the telly.’

‘Well, we don’t get all that many in Liverpool, but I am with Major Crimes, so I guess it’s only a matter of time. Honestly, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Especially at my level.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure you think that, but to an outsider, it definitely sounds more interesting than stacking shelves at Tesco or something like that.’

Mark let out a short laugh. ‘Okay, I’ll give you that. But your work sounds way better. More rewarding.’

‘Then you’ve not met enough people in social work.’

That wasn’t true, but Mark let it go. Working in the police service meant he’d dealt with all levels of social workers. Some more enamoured to their jobs than others, but commendable the vast majority of the time.

Probably the closest he could find to matching the police, to be fair.

‘And anyway,’ Natasha continued, sitting back into the sofa, seemingly finished with eating for now. ‘I haven’t been doing it long enough to have the really interesting cases that the older lot get. That’s probably the same for you, I suppose.’

‘I’ve been in the police for almost a decade. When I moved over from uniform to being a DC a couple of years ago, I thought it’d be something else. Turns out there’s still the same problems, I just don’t have to wear a uniform when they come up.’

‘Or those ridiculous helmets,’ Natasha replied, then laughed again, the sound of it echoing off the walls.

‘You’d be glad of one of them when you’re working in Concert Square on a Saturday night, I can tell you.’

Natasha stopped laughing and stared at him. Mark held her gaze for a few moments, then looked down at his half-eaten burger. He closed the lid, leaned forward and placed it on the coffee table. He was aware she was still staring at him as he brushed a few crumbs from his top lip.

‘What are you working on at the moment then?’

Mark sat back on the sofa and shook his head. ‘Nothing much. A missing teenager. Only been gone a few days, but they’re not hopeful. I’m trying to be.’