‘Right, what will you have to drink?’ asks Isobel, clapping her hands together. The noise makes Joe look up. When he sees it’s Isobel making it, he smiles.

‘’Gain,’ he says, clapping his own hands together. ‘Do it ’gain.’

Isobel does as he asks once, twice, three times, then gives up and tells him she’ll die of thirst if she goes on clapping. This makes Joe laugh even more. He’s taken a real shine to her. I should be happy that Joe is finally relaxing but why can’t it be me who makes him smile instead of this stranger?

‘So, what are we having?’ says Isobel, standing up and pushing her blonde hair behind her ears.

‘I’ll just have a Diet Coke,’ I say. ‘And Joe will have an orange juice, please.’

‘Can I not tempt you with something a little stronger?’ says Isobel, wrinkling her nose. ‘It is Christmas after all. Or at least it will be soon.’

‘Okay,’ I say, relaxing a little. ‘I’ll have a white wine. A small one.’

‘Great,’ she says with a smile. ‘And would Mr Joe like some crisps?’

‘Cripps,’ cries Joes, clapping his hands together again, all memory of Mark and his rigid dietary rules evaporating. ‘Cheesnunion.’

‘Cheesnunion, good choice,’ says Isobel. ‘They’re my favourites too. Right, won’t be a sec.’

I watch her as she walks over to the bar. She looks elegant, even in just casual jeans and sweater. Strange to think that less than an hour or so ago she was standing in the street in an ill-fitting dress and smudged make-up. But then she hadn’t been expecting us and, anyway, I’m not really in a position to talk. I look down at my creased clothes, the smell of damp rising off them, and try to imagine what Mark would say if he saw me. ‘Jesus, Lisa. Ever heard of an iron?’

I feel his eyes on me as I sit in this unfamiliar place, judging me, waiting for me to slip up. I look at Joe as the opening bars of ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’ strike up and I remember Mark’s face bearing down on me as I desperately tried to untangle the fairy lights to put on to the Christmas tree, remember what I’m running from. A bit of damp and a weird house is a small price to pay for freedom, surely?

‘Do you like this song?’ I say, tapping my fingers on the table and singing along with Noddy Holder. Joe scowls at me. I obviously don’t have Isobel’s touch.

‘Nice rendition.’

I look up. The man we met in the shop the other day is standing holding a tray with our drinks on. There’s no sign of Isobel.

‘I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,’ he says, setting the tray down on the table and handing Joe his crisps. ‘I’m Jimmy. I run this place.’

‘Oh,’ I say, just wanting him to go away. ‘Nice to meet you properly. It’s a lovely pub you’ve got here.’