His brown eyes meet Alice’s, as he shuffles out of his damp jacket, revealing a hooded sweatshirt, and he hangs the jacket over the back of the chair. He reaches out his hand, and Alice unlocks her arms, takes his hand. His palm feels clammy, his fingers yellowing, and as she leans forward a slight waft of smoke reaches her nostrils. ‘Good to meet you,’ he says.

‘You too.’ Alice feels uneasy, is desperate to make an excuse and run.

He remains standing, eyes still on Alice. Shoves his hands in his jean pockets. ‘I was gutted when I heard your father died.’

‘Me too.’ She sounds flippant, an attempt to keep her emotions in check.

‘I’ve always been a fan. He was a great author.’

‘He was.’ Her voice cracks, and Faith takes her hand, squeezes, looks at her, wrinkling her brow.

‘Though not everyone thought so, did they?’ Mitch continues. ‘Guess you can’t please everyone.’

‘No, Dad accepted that. Everyone has a right to an opinion.’

‘True. I wonder what he would have made of The Winslow Touch.’

‘The what?’

He’s fidgety, his eyes suddenly everywhere, flicking around the crowded bar. ‘Dane and Savannah Winslow – influencers – they’re big on social media. Review everything from restaurants to small shops, films and books. If they like you, great; if they don’t – duck.’ He drops down on his haunches, pretending to duck under the table, and laughs. ‘I could have punched my laptop screen when I heard them say it was a good thing your father was dead.’

‘Mitch, maybe you should get a drink,’ Faith says.

‘Yeah, right, sure.’ He straightens up. ‘Anyone in need of a top-up?’ He points at their glasses with one hand, and takes his wallet from his pocket with the other. ‘Whoa, did you see that moth?’ He laughs at his attempt at a joke.

Alice looks at her almost full glass. ‘I’m OK.’

‘I’ll have another pint,’ Faith says. ‘Good to keep them lined up.’

‘Not very feminine, babe.’ He screws up his nose, which is a little too big for his face. ‘Crisps? Nuts? Pork scratchings?’

They shake their heads.

He makes his way towards the bar, pushing through the throng.

‘Well? What do you think?’ Faith beams. ‘I mean, ignoring what he said about the Winslows. I’m so sorry about that, Alice. He’s only angry because he loved your dad’s writing so much.’

It was tactless. The man’s a moron. ‘He seems OK. It’s a little too early to tell.’

‘OK?’ Faith’s mouth drops open. ‘Oh, Alice, I really want you to like him. Is it because he’s older than me?’

‘No, of course not, I’m not ageist. Just give me a chance to get to know the guy. I’m sure we’ll hit it off.’

‘Yes. Sorry.’ She grabs Alice’s arm and laughs. ‘But he is gorgeous, isn’t he?’