Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Kat and Shani exchange a look. She knows what that look says, but what she doesn’t know is if it’s that look or something else that propels her forward and makes her reach out to him for a hello-hug. Of course, Harry is holding the jugs so can’t quite hug her back; instead he does a weird body shimmy at her, which is made weirder by the fact that he’s so tall and the fact that she, unthinkingly, reaches her hands up and loops them around his neck and awkwardly pulls him down into her.

She draws back from him and looks up into his eyes. There’s something in his gaze—or in her gaze? gosh she’s drunker than she realised—that makes her feel uncomfortable. So, she waves at Kat and Shani.

‘This is Kat and Shani,’ she tells him. ‘Kat did my tattoo,’ she continues. ‘Kat and Shani, this is Harry.’

‘The Harry?’ Kat asks, arching an eyebrow.

Lucy is horrified by the insinuation in Kat’s tone. ‘I told her about the whole failed mutton-birding escapade,’ she explains to him, at the same time that Kat says, ‘Join us for a drink, Harry?’

Harry grins. It’s an awkward smile, as his often are, but beneath the awkwardness he seems genuinely pleased by the invitation—or at least, that’s how it appears to Lucy.

‘It was my round.’ He nods to his jugs. ‘Give us a second to drop these off to my mates and I’ll be back.’ He disappears towards the back of the pub.

‘Fucking hell, Kat,’ Lucy half laughs, half hisses. ‘Way to make that awkward.’

‘Fucking hell, Lucy.’ Kat laughs. ‘You never told me he looked like that.’

Shani nods. ‘Kat does like big blokes.’

This catches Lucy by surprise. ‘I always kind of assumed you were a lesbian,’ she tells Kat, waving her hand in Kat’s general direction—at her tattoos, sheer black blouse, vibe. Even as she’s doing it, she cringes inwardly at her lack of tact.

Gosh, she is drunk. Way to go and typecast someone.

Kat doesn’t seem bothered though. ‘Yeah, well,’ she says. ‘Don’t mind big women either.’

‘Good to know,’ Harry’s voice rumbles. He’s reappeared and is pulling up a stool next to Lucy.

She’s surprised by how smooth his re-entry into their conversation is. She’s always assumed he was kind of socially awkward, but maybe she’d just misunderstood his breed of quiet. And what was that he’d said, on the night they’d planned the mutton-birding, later on, when they were alone on the beach? There’d been a few girls, don’t get him wrong. Of course he’d have the smooth when he needs it. For some reason, this makes her feel awkward.