‘You musssht not worry, my friend, I have shhooo many shhhhares here, I practically OWN THIS PLACE!’

Poppy was just wondering whether hiding under the table or doing a runner would be the better option, when Eleanor leapt to her feet.

‘Omigod! Lars!’

The enormous blond man took a moment or so to register, then swept Poppy’s boss’s wife off her feet in a huge bear hug.

‘ELLIE!’

Once the Viking had put her down, Eleanor turned to Marty, eyes shining, cheeks flushed, and said, ‘Hey, honey, remember Lars, who used to work with me at Merrill Lynch?’

Marty stood up and held out his hand. ‘I believe we did have the pleasure once.’

‘Oh, Lars, all those hours you kept us going on the trading floor with your smorgasbord and schnapps!’ Eleanor’s mouth was running away with her. ‘Such fun times!’

Damian took advantage of this fortuitous new development to sneak up behind Poppy and kiss the back of her neck. She turned round, glaring at him, and whispered,

‘You are pissed as a fucking fart.’

‘I know. Sorry. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.’

Poppy turned her back on him, only to see that Marco and Chase (who clearly was not made of wood after all) were pissing themselves laughing, giving her the thumbs-up and pulling up a chair for Damian.

Eleanor, Lars and Marty were still standing up, talking, when Lars boomed, in his enormous voice, ‘ASH IT ISH MY BIRTHDAY, I WANT TO BUY SCHNAPPS! FOR ALL!’ He turned to Damian and gave him an almost imperceptible wink. Damian, sitting in a chair between Poppy and Marco, smiled nervously.

‘Oh, honey, don’t you think that sounds grand?’ Eleanor said to her husband. Lars’s arrival seemed to have relaxed her attitude to poisons somewhat. ‘It is his birthday, after all! And – oh, jeez, you cannot be Poppy’s husband? My, what a coincidence. So how did you meet my old friend and colleague Lars then?’

Poppy pinched the tiny bit of flesh on the back of Damian’s ribcage to tell him to think of something cool. To her relief, he came up trumps.

‘Hello. Eleanor, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, we haven’t been introduced properly. Yes, I am Poppy’s husband. Damian …’ He gave a repulsively insincere grin and stood up, holding out his hand. ‘I’m a journalist. I was interviewing Lars about the Scandinavian markets earlier. What a wonderful coincidence.’

Chase said to Poppy, with the first proper bit of animation she’d seen all evening, ‘Man, your husband is hot.’

‘My bloody husband is a useless bloody drunk,’ she started, quietly, only to be hushed by the gay couple.

‘Babe, he is hot,’ they said in unison.

And despite herself, Poppy started to giggle. Who was she actually trying to impress anyway? Marty was an unreconstructed sexist that she could wrap around her little finger, and the rest of them seemed quite fun now.

The waiter brought the bottle of schnapps to the table and they all drank their shots as one.