I got there about fifteen minutes before Brendan arrived, took a seat at the end of the bar and ordered a lemonade. I had never met Brendan before, as Tommy didn’t allow me to go to the office or any of the social events that flowed from office work. Tommy had provided me with a photo and told me that he’s impossible not to spot as he has a face like a potato crisp and socks that scream ‘wanker’. He was right. The first thing I noticed about Brendan when he walked in was his fluorescent pink socks with yellow spanners embossed on them. He sat at the centre of the bar and ordered a pint of lager. He had a cheap brown leather briefcase with him and was fiddling nervously with the handle as he drank.

Not long after, a shortish bloke wearing a cheap dark grey suit and an open-necked white shirt joined him at the bar. He looked like a carpet salesman or maybe a clerical assistant at the Town Hall. I took a book out of my bag and pretended to read it. I occasionally picked my phone up and pretended to scroll while taking photos of the pair of them. They chatted for a while, the carpet salesman went to the toilet and while he was away Brendan fiddled about with the contents of his briefcase and took a phone call. When Carpet Salesman returned, they continued chatting for a while. I could hear most of what they were saying and it was perfectly banal and dull. At one point Brendan wrote something down on a piece of paper and popped it into Carpet Salesman’s pocket. After about half an hour had passed Brendan left and Carpet Salesman stayed seated at the bar.

I decided that I needed to find out what information had been handed to him on the note so I walked past him and made some comment or other to him in the hope it might encourage him to strike up a conversation with me. He took the bait and joined me at my table. He was a nervous type but very amusing. He reminded me a lot of Pete but without the bluster and immaturity. He seemed very present and eager to enquire about me. He was a very easy bloke to like. Our conversation flowed naturally and I remember he took a particular interest in the book that I had been pretending to read, The Satsuma Complex. It turned out he was simply a work acquaintance of Brendan’s and that the note he had been passed was just Brendan’s non-work phone number. I could have made my excuses and left but I found myself still sat chatting to him two hours later. At some point he went to the toilet or to the bar when Tommy phoned me.

‘Where the fuck are you?’ was his opening line.