‘I would have liked to try it but, hey ho, I’ll save it for another time,’ Connor says, taking a large glug of wine. ‘I think I’ll go for the octopus salad instead and the patatas bravas. Will you share some with me?’

I nod my head. I don’t really feel like eating anything heavy but I don’t want to cause another argument.

The woman returns and takes our order. Connor says something to her in Spanish. She looks at me and giggles, then, collecting the menus, walks away, still giggling.

‘What did you say to her?’ I ask, taking an olive from the dish the woman had put down along with the wine.

‘Oh, nothing,’ he says with a shrug. ‘Just trying out some Spanish I picked up in Barcelona a few years back. I wanted to see if she understood.’

‘You said something funny,’ I say, removing the olive stone and placing it on the napkin. ‘And then she laughed at me.’

‘God, Vanessa, what is the matter with you today?’ he says, his eyes widening. ‘You’re in such a bad mood.’

‘I just wanted to know what you said to her,’ I say. ‘And why she laughed at me.’

‘She was being friendly,’ he says, sighing. ‘Smiling and laughing. Christ, is that a crime?’

I don’t answer. If I do, it will only make things worse.

We sit in silence for a few moments. Our food arrives and we begin to eat.

‘It’s delicious,’ I say to Connor, doing my best to sound upbeat. ‘Particularly the potatoes.’

‘You don’t have to do that, you know,’ he says, smiling.

‘Do what?’

‘Pretend you’re enjoying this,’ he says, refilling our glasses with the Rioja. ‘It’s my fault. I should have gone to the fight alone. Plus, this part of London isn’t to everyone’s tastes. We should just stick to Chelsea and Clapham and Wimbledon for our evenings out, your comfort zones.’

‘No,’ I say, feeling genuinely aggrieved. ‘I’m not some sort of idiot who can’t handle being in the East End. It was just the fight. You told me it was going to be for show. No blood.’

His eyes go cold then and he shakes his head.

‘What?’ I say, leaning back in my chair as the waitress collects our empty dishes. ‘What is it, Connor?’