‘Nice to meet you, Vanessa,’ he says. His voice is deep, with a trace of northern accent. ‘Damian speaks very highly of you.’

‘Ah, that’s good to know,’ I say, taking a sip of wine. ‘I always feel bad for getting him to loosen the company purse strings for my ad campaigns. How do you two know each other?’

‘Damian was a friend of my dad’s,’ says Connor. ‘They were at uni together. When Mum and Dad split up, Damian stuck around for me. He’s a sort of unofficial godfather.’

His eyes glisten slightly and I get an urge to reach out and touch his arm, reassure him. It’s an odd feeling. I’ve only just met this man yet I want to protect him. Beside us I hear Lottie telling Damian about the ‘murderous puppets’. She’s laughing and doing impressions, much to Damian’s delight.

‘I read about that show in the Observer,’ says Connor, leaning in to me and raising his voice above the din of the bar. ‘It sounded interesting. What did you think?’

‘I actually quite enjoyed it,’ I say, edging my seat away from Lottie. ‘Though I feel bad for subjecting Lottie to it. It was a bit dark for her tastes.’

‘Why would you feel bad?’ he says, a frown passing across his face. ‘It’s not your fault she didn’t enjoy it.’

‘I guess not.’

‘What did you like about it?’ he says, flinching slightly as Damian lets out a roar of laughter at something Lottie has said.

‘It reminded me of the children’s stories I enjoyed when I was a kid,’ I say. ‘You know, the Grimms’ fairy tales, ghost stories, that sort of thing.’

‘Yeah, ghost stories were a big thing when I was at primary school,’ he says, staring at me intently. ‘The girls loved them, though I could never see the appeal. Remember those Holly Maze books?’

I breathe in sharply. For a moment the memory of my mum driving into sharp sunlight flashes in front of me. I can’t allow myself to think about that, not tonight.

‘No, I don’t remember those. I was more into The Demons of Winter Valley.’

‘Sorry, I interrupted you,’ he says, touching my arm. ‘You were saying?’

‘The show just reminded me of those stories,’ I say, the wine loosening my tongue. ‘Good versus evil, morality lessons, if you like. The main character wasn’t as sweet as she made out. She was playing with the audience, hiding her true nature from them. But the hooded figure, the one we imagined was bad, was actually her guilty conscience. And when he … oh, I’d better not spoil the ending for you in case you go and see it.’

‘No, do,’ he says. ‘I’d like to hear.’

‘Well, in the end, the hooded figure kills her.’

‘Ah, hence the murderous puppet?’ he says, gesturing to Lottie.