I ordered another pint, waited for fifteen minutes, then walked through to the lounge. She gave me a beaming smile and a childish wave. I fancied her so much I suspect it made me blush. As I approached her she put a finger to her mouth to shush me and mimed the motion of using a mobile phone. She wanted me to turn my phone off was my guess, and so that is what I did.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said, ‘you never know who might be listening. How are you? It’s lovely to see you.’

I took this reference to people listening as her way of acknowledging that there was something untoward going on in our lives. I noted it but didn’t comment. She got up from her seat and gave me what felt like a very genuine hug. I took this as an indication she wanted me to know that she was ‘on my side’. ‘Same,’ I replied as I sat down beside her.

‘Did you get caught short?’ she asked, pointing at the crotch of my trousers.

‘No, not at all. I washed them before I came out and they didn’t have time to dry.’

‘Did you only wash the crotch area?’

‘Yes. There was a lot of dog spit on it.’

‘I won’t ask.’

‘Thank you.’

There was a small hole in the conversation. Truth is, I had no idea what was going on or what I was trying to achieve. I think maybe she felt the same and we found ourselves dancing around each other and reaching for subjects to connect us.

‘You smell nice,’ she said. ‘What is it you’re wearing?’

‘ “Electricity” by Seb Longcoq. It’s on the banana-y side of roadworks, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah, with a hint of damp balaclava somewhere in the background. You look different in your casual clothes – less carpet salesman and more like an architect or university lecturer.’

‘It’s the brown corduroy. It gives me a certain gravitas, much like driving a Volvo or carrying a vintage briefcase.’

‘My dad drives a Volvo and he’s a very serious bit of kit, but very much of the odious kind.’

‘Do you still see your dad? You know, to say hello and catch up on his latest irritations?’

‘No, I haven’t seen him since I left home when I was eighteen. We never had much going on between us.’

‘My dad died when I was little, about seven or eight years old. He drank too much salt one day and fell into a coma. Never woke up.’

‘You’re kidding me?’

‘No, honestly. He drank a whole bottle of soy sauce after a hike in the Cotswolds.’

‘Really?’

‘No, I’m just kidding. It was the Lake District.’