‘And a thimble of lemonade for the pixie on table twelve,’ I whispered to her. She gave me a sceptical look, but I saw her glance over to table twelve, where a tiny man with a Florida tan and a permanently astounded expression, as though his eyebrows had been surgically tweaked upwards, was leaning forward into the monstrous bosom of his formidable blonde companion. A smirk crept up the side of her face before she could catch and kill it. I carried on quietly with my business, mixing drinks in the cocktail shaker, as though I had noticed nothing.

She had a six-year-old son, Francis said.

‘Any husband?’

‘Husband,’ he said, mocking me for being old-fashioned. ‘I don’t think so. Why, do you want to marry her?’

‘I’m not the marrying kind,’ I said.

Phyllis sent me letters from Belfast. They fell on to the Whartons’ doormat every couple of weeks or so: a page or two of blue ink, written in her painstaking, cramped hand.

There was one lying there this morning. I pictured her in the evenings in our front room, drawing the curtains and mulling over her account of events.

Dear Jacky, it said, Hope all is well with you. The weather has been terrible here, clouds and drizzle so no surprises there. Mary and Sam came up to visit at the weekend, Mary looking very smart in a green suit she bought in Lisburn. Sam hadn’t much to say for himself because the football was on so we gave him the remote and left him to it.

Two men I didn’t recognise came to the house looking for you last Friday. I said you weren’t here, you had gone to live in Scotland and they should leave us alone now. The next day there were dirty words sprayed on our wall but I spoke to Mr Murdie and between us we have managed to get it off with the paint remover. Hopefully that will be an end to it, as I can’t be doing with any more trouble.

I was round at Titch’s house on Sunday for his mother’s birthday. We had a lovely evening with a Chinese takeaway and white wine, and a coffee cake with candles in it. Titch is on much better form and is now going out of the house by himself a couple of times a week, although not in the evenings. He asks after you all the time. I am enclosing some snaps of us on the night, taken by his Uncle Joe. Titch got them developed in Speedy Snaps. Take care and give my regards to the Whartons, love Phyllis.