‘Bloody hell,’ said Griff, ‘hasn’t anybody made up their minds? Bea? Dan?’

‘I’ll have a steak,’ said Dan promptly. He hadn’t understood the menu but he’d had time to think.

‘How d’you want it cooked?’ prompted Griff before the waiter could ask. ‘Come on!’

‘I’m going up.’ Liv pushed back her chair. ‘Griff. Key.’

‘Wait!’ commanded Griff.

Bea could feel the whole restaurant watching them. It was like her childhood, the awful discomfort of being visible when her natural state was to observe.

‘Dan!’ barked Griff. ‘Your steak?’

‘Just give me the key,’ said Liv, getting up unsteadily, with that blind look she had, demonstrating her pain.

‘Medium?’ said Dan.

‘Right!’ boomed Griff. ‘Good. Getting somewhere. Does anyone want anything to start?’ He looked around the awkward faces.

‘Oh my God,’ said Liv, holding the back of her chair.

Dan, thinking she was going to fall, jumped up, and pushed past Bea to steady her.

Instantly, she fell into his arms, and pressed her cheek against his chest. She was light and feeble, and he had to hold her up.

Bea stared at the sight of her mother in her husband’s arms. Everybody stared, even the waiter. Had there been a photograph taken, the waiter would have been in it, gawping like a single man who had stumbled onto a dance floor full of couples. Griff was the first to turn away.

‘Philip?’ he said, as if nothing was happening. ‘I’m picking up the bill,’ he laughed, to cover his fury. ‘Can we – just – get on with it? Please.’

‘I –’ Philip flicked through the menu with quivering fingers. ‘I’ll have some fish. The bouillabaisse,’ he said.

Tenderly, Dan helped Liv into her chair. She gripped his hand in thanks. He took his seat and turned to check on Bea; her face was still.

‘Bea?’ said Griff. ‘What will you have?’

‘I’ll have a herb omelette and a salad, please.’ She said, automatically.

Dan thought it was the first time he’d ever seen her in these surroundings, and was disturbed how much it felt like her natural habitat. Only a girl born with a silver spoon in her mouth would show her disapproval of luxury by ordering off-menu.

‘No hair shirts on the specials?’ said Griff.

Dan laughed. He stifled it immediately, but felt Bea’s eyes on him.

‘Great! How difficult was that?’ Griff looked at the waiter. ‘And a steak for me. Medium rare, but not too rare. Not bloody. All right? And some chips. And something green for the table. Whatever. Thanks.’

‘I’ll have the same,’ said Arun, unobtrusive.

‘Will that be everything?’ said the waiter, too scared to leave.

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Bea, and smiled.

The waiter escaped, gratefully. The strangers at the other tables turned back to their own affairs. Griff looked around at his companions as if he were inspecting disappointing troops.