‘Ahhhh, that well-known annual event on everyone’s calendar! A Nigel party!’

Francesco issued a deliberate cough. What he meant by that was ‘wanker’. He’d once told her a story about being a kid, and having learned about that insult from one of the British girls at school, had employed it on his father. Only, Francesco’s father had understood it and when he’d challenged him (‘What did you say to me, boy?’) Francesco had tried to tell him he’d only coughed. It became a running joke. Nobody needed to actually say the word ‘wanker’ when they could cough. In Francesco’s family – and now for Penny – everyone knew what a meaningful cough meant.

‘Tell me about your Nigel party, then …’ Penny said.

‘Well,’ said Francesco, and she could hear the hustle and bustle of the road as he walked somewhere. It must have been his day off. ‘Did you know the number of Nigels born in this country is in rapid decline?’

‘Imagine my surprise,’ said Penny.

Francesco coughed again, refusing to resume conversation.

‘Sorry,’ Penny said. ‘I went to bed late last night. I’m being cranky with you because I’m tired.’

‘Did you know teenagers practise emotional boundaries with their parents because it is considered safe to? It’s the same in relationships – we’re only really horrible to the people we know won’t leave us.’

Penny smiled. Francesco was forever telling her facts and stories and titbits that way. ‘It’s like you’ve eaten “Psychoanalysis Crunch” for breakfast or something,’ she said.

‘You are proving my point,’ he replied.

‘Oh, hush,’ she said, affably.

‘Can I tell you about Nigel now?’

‘I’m dying for you to …’ she said.

‘Well, as I said, the rate of Nigels is in decline. So this guy at a pub near work where we go between shifts sometimes is called Nigel, and when he found out they are a dying species he held a Nigel party! I’m not kidding, there must have been six hundred Nigels in that place.’

‘Oh,’ exclaimed Penny. ‘That’s actually pretty cool.’

‘It was! There were Nigels from the UK and Australia and New Zealand …’

‘People actually flew in for this?’

‘Yup! So many Nigels that Nigel the Pub Owner had to get a marquee in the beer garden. One woman there even proposed to her Nigel!’

‘Well, that is an exciting night,’ said Penny. Her phone lit up and she was temporarily distracted as she read a message from Thomas: My place or yours later? it said.

Yours, she texted back, following up with an aubergine emoji and a love heart.

‘One of us should commit to calling our child Nigel, I think,’ Francesco carried on. ‘As a contribution to the cause. Except, not me, because I have Italian heritage and need a name that ends in a vowel.’

‘You want me to call my child Nigel.’