On the other hand, maybe it was winning to have booked ahead? She could always be casual about it. Moreover, it was better than the alternative: turning up and finding their last-minute plan foiled, at which point they’d have to walk to a pub – making small talk on the way – and then squeeze in at the bar, pints hovering near their mouths as they misheard each other repeatedly over the boisterous hubbub of the Friday-night throng. Alexa pulled out her phone and googled the restaurant, then tapped the number. It rang five times.

They sounded harried. In the background, Alexa could hear commotion and chatter and someone yelling, ‘Aubergine parmigiana!’

‘Hi,’ she said, firmly, putting in her request for a table.

‘One second,’ said the voice on the other end of the phone. Alexa could hear more chaos. The person on the other end was speaking to a customer at the till. The noise roared from the phone again – the server was back. ‘Um, yeah, that should be fine. What’s the name?’

‘Brilliant. It’s Alexa.’

‘Alexa. Right. See you soon.’

It was 8.45 p.m. – time to leave. She took the stairs two at a time and locked the door behind her. It was cold out now, the sky cloudless. Alexa pulled her cord jacket more tightly around herself, crossed her arms, and set off towards the bus stop, the soles of her trainers smacking hard on the chilly pavement.

The bus was arriving just as she rounded the corner ahead of her stop, and the journey was quick, so she arrived bang on time, as always. Ben was nowhere to be seen, though she didn’t mind, as it meant he would not discover that she’d booked the table. Maybe if they got married, she thought amusedly, she could confess this in the wedding speech.

Taking the chair facing the door so that he wouldn’t surprise her, she hung her jacket carefully on the back of it. The table was in the middle of the restaurant, sandwiched between two other tables-for-two, both occupied, while waiters weaved balletically through the passages between seats. A procession of scooter drivers snaked outside the shop’s front, waiting to be presented with their precious cargo. Alexa rubbed her arms to warm up after the walk, and tried not to watch the entrance. She poured herself a glass of water from the carafe, drained it, and poured another. A sullen, angular waiter, slouching, his eyes peering out from beneath an unkempt fringe, appeared at her left shoulder and she ordered a small glass of Verdicchio (she’d picked the second-cheapest on the menu, her father’s voice in her ear). She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and fiddled with her left earring, comforted by the smoothness of the silver. She took her phone out and then put it away again. Everything she did, she did as though he were already watching.