Porter spent the next few minutes working his way around the splintered group until he had said all his goodbyes, including a promise to Anderson to meet him for a final coffee before his last day. He headed outside, trading the buzz in his ears from the bass of the speakers for the drumbeat of rain on the road outside. He paused under the awning and looked off to the right just in time to see the sole taxi pull away from the rank. He sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket, but hesitated as he heard the voice.

‘Didn’t have you pegged for a smoker, guv.’

Porter spun round to see who had spoken, and saw Simmons leaning against a doorway two doors down from the bar, cigarette in hand.

‘They wouldn’t let me smoke by the entrance,’ she said, pointing at the bouncers outside the doorway. ‘Come on, get under here before you get soaked.’

He looked up at the sky, realising that he had wandered beyond the protection of the black canvas. He felt the raindrops, fat and heavy on his head and sweater. Half a dozen quick strides and he was in the doorway with her.

‘Want one?’ She held an open pack of Marlboro Lights towards him.

He waved them away. ‘No thanks, don’t smoke. I was just going to call a cab when you shouted.’

‘It was hardly a shout.’ She laughed. ‘You’re not that easily startled, are you? Although, you did look a bit lost for words when I suggested that last drink.’

He was suddenly aware of how small the doorway was, and how little space separated them. He could smell her perfume, mixed with a waft of smoke that drifted up from the cigarette she held by her side.

‘I know we’re doing coffee on Monday morning,’ she said, moving an inch closer, body language made bold by drink, only an inch, and she filled his field of vision now. ‘But the offer of a drink still stands, you know, I mean another time …’

Before he could answer, she closed the remaining gap and kissed him hard, her forward momentum bringing their lips crashing together, and for the briefest of moments he felt her tongue tickle against the edges of his mouth, a cocktail of red wine and tobacco. Time froze for the briefest of seconds, the longest of moments, before he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently moved her back.

‘Evie, I …’ He stopped. Couldn’t find the right words. Confusion. It had felt good. ‘I don’t know—’

She placed a finger on his lips to silence him. ‘S’OK. My bad. I just thought maybe …’

She drew back, six inches first, then six more. The inches seemed like miles now. She smiled like an embarrassed teenager and turned her face to the side, hiding behind a cloak of hair.

‘Sorry. Little too much to drink. Can we … ?’