‘So what do you do when you’re not driving Miss Daisy around?’ she asked.

‘M’lady,’ Quinn doffed an imaginary cap, ‘nothing as interesting as owning my own pie business.’

‘Are you sure you’re not a drug dealer? This feels like a drug dealer’s car.’

Quinn laughed. ‘Bit conspicuous for a drug dealer. No, I’m a management consultant.’

‘I feel like that’s what a drug dealer would say.’

Minnie gave him a slow wink. He let out a deep rusty sort of laugh that caught in his throat. It was the kind of laugh that lulled people into an unearned familiarity. Hearing it made Minnie feel as though she was drinking hot wine by a log fire wrapped in Nordic furs. Not that she’d ever done this, but she imagined it would be a very enjoyable thing to do.

*

Their first delivery was to a social centre for the elderly near London Fields. Minnie said she would run in, Quinn could wait in the car, but he wanted to come too. Mrs Mentis, one of the regular volunteers at the centre, opened the door for them. She was a sweet lady in her late sixties. She wore purple varifocals and a chunky green cardigan trimmed with large buttons shaped like hedgehogs.

‘Oh, hello Minnie, we haven’t seen you for a while,’ she said in a soft Yorkshire accent. ‘It’s usually your man Alan who comes. He’s not poorly, I hope?’

Mrs Mentis looked up at Quinn and then moved her glasses down her nose to inspect him more closely. She pulled a grey handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe her nose.

‘Oh he’s fine,’ Minnie said, ‘just a mix-up with his van. This is Quinn, he’s helping me out today.’

Minnie nodded a head towards Quinn and then made a ‘these pies are quite heavy, can we just get to the kitchen please’ face. Mrs Mentis took the hint and moved aside.

‘Just down to your left, Quint,’ she said, pointing the way with a wavering arm. Minnie and Quinn walked past her and Mrs Mentis hobbled after them. She was plagued by bunion trouble; Minnie had heard about it at great length over the last few years. She had named her bunions Billy and Boo and talked about them as though they were her grandchildren.

‘How are the feet, Mrs Mentis?’ Minnie asked.

‘Oh Billy’s not so bad, Minnie, but Boo’s playing up no end she is – doesn’t like this weather.’

The kitchen was small and beige. It smelt of cleaning fluid and marmalade. There were a few old coffee cups and an abandoned game of checkers on the beige Formica table.

‘Everyone loves pie day,’ said Mrs Mentis, opening one of the lids to see inside. ‘I hope steak and Guinness is on the menu?’