The next bar they went to was even busier. The Duke of Kendal sat on the corner of Connaught Street, and put Porter in mind of a giant slice of architectural pie, the way its angled front pointed into the street. It had just reopened under new ownership, and the flyers promising a free shot for every customer bearing them had done their job admirably by the size of the queue. Porter stood nursing his seventh bottle of Bud – or was it his eighth? He would have to grab a burger or pizza on the way home to kick-start the recovery process. He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked round to see Simmons slotting in beside him at the bar.

‘Evening, guv,’ she said with a wry smile.

‘Evening, Simmons,’ he said, raising his bottle by way of greeting.

She swatted his words away with one hand. ‘Just Eve will do, or Evie, if you like, seeing as we’re off the clock.’ She had a glow to her cheeks that could have been make-up, or it could have been the drink; he couldn’t decide.

He smiled. ‘Alright, Eve, Evie.’ Three seconds that could have been three minutes ticked by as she looked up at him. ‘Good turnout for Anderson.’

Way to go, smooth talker, breaking that awkward silence. Might as well ask her if she comes here often.

‘Mm, like this lot needs an excuse for a piss-up.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ he said, taking another swig from his bottle.

‘So …’ She drew out the last vowel into at least three syllables. ‘You around Monday? We could grab a coffee and you can tell me how it went with the Lockes?’

‘What about now? I can—’

‘Nope. No shop talk on a night out,’ she said with a shake of her head.

‘OK, OK. It can wait till tomorrow,’ he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

She clocked the suds at the bottom of his bottle held against his chest.

‘Buy you another?’

Had she moved in closer, or had he just imagined it?

He looked down at the bottle. ‘Um, no, thanks. I’m good. I should probably make a move, early start in the morning and all that.’

She lowered her eyes, and the space between them returned.

‘Yeah, good idea. Probably won’t be too long myself.’

She made her excuses and headed off to the toilet, with a promise to find him tomorrow at work. Porter drained the last from his bottle and made his way over to Styles.

‘I’m gonna hit the hay. Catch you Monday.’

‘Can’t tempt you with one for the road?’

Porter shook his head. ‘Nah, I’ll just cramp your style. You kids have fun.’

‘No worries, boss. I’ll grab the cuppas on the way in and see you there.’