‘So what do you fancy then, Stanley?’ Jock said, handing him a menu.

Stanley glanced at the menu and immediately felt queasy. ‘Don’t they do any English food, Jock? I ain’t a lover of rice or bleedin’ noodles, mate. I had food poisoning on this shit once.’

Jock laughed and called one of the waiters over. He explained Stanley’s predicament and the waiter turned to Stanley. ‘We do very nice omelette and very nice chip.’

‘Yeah, that’ll do, mate,’ Stanley said politely.

As Jock chatted to his granddaughter, Stanley studied the rest of the company. They were all bloody youngsters and he felt about as out of place as a Nigerian at a National Front march.

‘You remember my daughter Louise, don’t you?’ Jock asked, as he excused himself to go to the toilet.

Stanley hadn’t seen Jock’s daughter for a good few years and she had put on that much weight he would never have recognised her unless Jock had told him who she was.

‘Hello, love. You look well,’ Stanley lied.

‘Ah, thanks Stanley. How are you keeping? Your Joycie still looks well, don’t she? I saw her recently in a pub.’

‘What pub? She never said, where did you see her, Louise?’

Louise sat down on the chair next to Stanley. ‘In the Bull in Romford. I work behind the bar in there at lunchtimes. To be honest, I didn’t speak to her, Stanley. I’ve put on a lot of weight recently, so she probably wouldn’t have recognised me anyway. Not only that, she was with Eddie Mitchell and I didn’t wanna make meself busy.’

About to swallow a sip of his beer, Stanley very nearly choked. He spat the beer back into the glass. ‘Eddie Mitchell! It couldn’t have been my Joycie. We’ve had nothing to do with him since my Jessica died.’

‘It was definitely Joyce. I was always round your house years ago and she still looks the bleedin’ same. I could hear her chatting and laughing with Eddie. There ain’t many people got a full-on laugh like your Joyce has, Stanley.’

Feeling the colour drain from his cheeks, Stanley grabbed Louise’s arm. ‘Are you sure it was Eddie with her? Think carefully, because this is important.’

Louise was rather merry. She also wasn’t the brightest of girls and didn’t even realise she’d said the wrong thing. ‘Of course I’m sure it was Eddie. Everyone knows who Eddie Mitchell is, don’t they? Blimey, Stanley, my mate Carol went out with him before he got with your Jess, so I know what he bloody well looks like. He even bonked Carol in the back of his car once while I was sitting in the passenger seat like a bloody gooseberry.’

‘Whatever’s the matter, Stanley?’ Jock asked, as he returned to the table and clocked his pal’s deathly white face.

Stanley ignored him and turned back to Louise. ‘How long ago did you see them in the pub together?’

‘About six or seven weeks ago,’ Louise replied, necking the rest of the wine in her glass. She had just sort of realised that something was amiss when her dad had shaken his head frantically behind Stanley’s back and she didn’t fancy any agg with Eddie Mitchell. She stood up and smiled. ‘Perhaps I got it wrong, Stanley. My eyes play me up terrible sometimes. In fact, I’m going to have an eye test next week to see if I need glasses.’