You don’t have to do this, her mind reminded her.

But if she gave it up before the end of September, then Michelle would be right.

“Give me a kiss.”

“What?” Startled, she looked up. A plump young man wearing an Arsenal shirt was leaning over the counter, smiling confidently.

“It’s my birthday,” he said. “You’ve got to give me a kiss.”

“Excuse me?” She stared at him, incredulous.

“You’ve got to give him a kiss.” Another young man, thinner and ferret-faced, leaned forward to explain: it was clearly not their first pub visit of the day. “It’s his birthday.”

Lulu sighed. Although not a threatening situation, this could shape into an extremely irritating one. From the corner of her eye, she saw Michelle settle with interest to see how Lulu would handle it.

“What do you want to drink?” she asked.

“Oh, go on, love,” said the plump young man. “Just a little kiss, just for my birthday.”

Lulu gritted her teeth. “I’m not going to give you a kiss,” she said. “I’ll pour you a drink, though. What do you want to drink?”

“Give him a kiss,” said the thin young man. “What’s the matter with you, love? It’s his birthday—be nice to him.”

“What do you want to drink?” repeated Lulu. “Because that’s all that’s on offer here, believe me.”

“Oh, awl that’s orn orfer,” repeated the thin young man mincingly. “What’s wrong, love—think you’re better than we are, do you?”

“Of course she’s bleeding better than you.” Jasmine, swiping cheerfully from the other end of the counter. “My gran’s budgie’s better than both of you two put together.”

This was the language the young men understood. They relaxed over the counter, laughing and making mock kissing noises.

“Piss off,” she said, smiling. “What d’you want to drink?”

“Your tits,” said the plump young man, dissolving into giggles.

“Don’t mind him,” said the thin young man. “It’s his birthday. Show some respect, Gavin, eh? We’ll have two pints of bitter, my lovely, if you would be so good.”

“Here you go.” Jasmine quickly pulled two pints and slapped them on the bar. “And we’ll have no more cheek from you, or I’m calling the manager.”

“How do you do that?” said Lulu when the young men had shambled cheerfully to a table. “Talk to them like that and not make them hate you?”

“You just do.” Jasmine, who had never fallen prey to introspection in her life, shrugged. “You’ve just got to be firm, haven’t you? Show them who’s boss.” She smiled, kindly, at Lulu. “Don’t think so hard about it, Lulu. Just do it.”

But how do you do it? wondered Lulu, returning to her mopping. How do you talk to people without alienating or confusing them, in the way Jasmine so easily did, and Sophie, and Sasha Goncharoff, and, yes, young Herr Bhaer, whose genes Lulu had inherited every bit as much as had Sophie, but, unfairly, not, it seemed, that part of them? How do you manage to be charming?