‘Actually, can I use your phone?’ I say. ‘Just to check quickly?’

He slides it over the table and I sign into the mail app. My roster is still not up and it’s a new month in less than a week. It never takes this long.

‘Thanks,’ I say, handing it back.

When the food eventually comes, Cain is onto his second glass of wine. The taste doesn’t seem to be slowing him down too much. ‘It’s actually much better now, maybe it just needed time to breathe.’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Or maybe it’s singed your tastebuds with its bitterness?’

‘Suits me,’ he says. Then he takes another small mouthful.

The wine seems to be getting him drunk quickly. He doesn’t even notice I’ve barely eaten any of my food, I’ve just moved it around with my fork. There’s no way I could keep it down. I can’t stop thinking about the dress. Someone at the house. What are they planning to do? The waiter clears our plates.

By the time he comes back over with the menus again, Cain’s eyelids are lower and he is breathing heavily.

‘Can I interest you both in dessert?’

Cain looks up now, his eyes a little unfocused. ‘Um, I’m okay.’

‘And for you?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Cain checks his phone and when he puts it away it takes him a few attempts to get it in his pocket.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask, peering forward.

He frowns now, blinking rapidly. ‘Yeah, I’m just feeling a little sleepy.’ The booze is making his consonants wet and slow. How much did he drink?

‘Cain, have you taken any medication, anything else?’

He shakes his head, closing his eyes as he does so. I know the signs of anaesthetic, he’s got something in him, a narcotic. It can’t just be the booze.

‘Let’s get the bill then,’ I say, turning back towards the door, searching for the waiter.

I go inside and pay.

‘Alright, let’s get going.’

Cain stands, turns, stumbles. He slams into the neighbouring table and I clutch him to keep him upright.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I utter to the diners, my face flushing. ‘He’s unwell.’ Then I say quietly into his ear, ‘What’s gotten into you?’

I hear the waiter behind me asking, ‘Did you want to take the rest of your bottle?’

Cain turns back, his elbow bumping the bottle from the table. It tumbles and explodes on the floor.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘Let me tidy it up.’

‘No,’ the waiter cuts me off. ‘It’s fine, just leave.’

He must have had some painkillers or something at the house before he drank. He falls against another table. A woman in a dark dress stands abruptly, moving away from her meal and the glass of wine spilling towards her.