Esther, chewing her bits of chicken and rocket leaves far more than they required, was aware of shrinking into herself. Here was a different, more extreme sort of emotional calamity than hers and she wanted no part of it, not because she was mean-spirited, but because it demanded an energy of which she simply did not feel capable. First world problems maybe, but it was all she could do to carry her own current load.

People, no matter what they looked like, weren’t what you wanted them to be, that was the lesson. Behind the scenes, everyone – including her – was messed up, damaged, and full of potholes. It was all a complete minefield, and she just wanted to go home.

‘I’ve been going on. Forgive me, Esther,’ he groaned suddenly, parking his elbows on either side of his plate and dropping his head into his hands.

‘It’s okay, but actually…’ Something inside her had quietly snapped. The hubbub around them was deafening, the air so hot and thick it was hard to breathe. ‘I have to be getting back.’

‘Now? But you haven’t finished. What about another drink?’ He gestured helplessly at the salad remnants on her plate and the half-full wine glass.

‘I have to get back because… my son…’

‘Dylan, you mean?’

Esther found suddenly that she did not like hearing Dylan’s name fall from this stranger’s lips. Chris didn’t know Dylan. Or her. Or anything about her misfiring life. And she didn’t want him to. In fact, in that instant, she would have taken back every single sorry personal detail she had divulged if she could – from the little potted history in their first phone conversation about her and Lucas, falling in love and out again, to the existence of little Billy and Craig. ‘Yes. I… Dylan and I… we have an early start tomorrow…’

‘But I thought you said he was in Cambridge? With his dad?’

‘Yes, I did say that… because he is.’ Esther folded her napkin into a messy square and straightened her cutlery over her uneaten food. ‘But tomorrow we are heading off to check out one of the universities he has applied to. The University of the West of England – the one that’s Bristol but not Bristol,’ she blagged, deciding untruthfulness with strangers maybe didn’t matter quite so much after all, especially when it was only a half-lie anyway, since they had visited UWE, and the nice people there had offered Dylan some very reasonable grades. ‘I should have mentioned that I can’t be late,’ she added lamely, forcing her hot arms back into the jacket and placing two precious twenty-pound notes on the table, ‘but please do stay and finish your drink.’ She stood up so abruptly she barged the person behind with her chair and had to apologise.