‘I don’t really enjoy the guess-my-age game,’ I reply.

‘Why not?’

‘Because,’ Chrissie starts, before I can answer, ‘no one ever wants to play it unless they think they look remarkably young for their age.’

I turn to her, pleasantly surprised by her attitude tonight. The ‘we don’t say no’ approach to parenting, plus the sage toothpaste, had coloured my view of her, but she’s far sassier than I’d ever imagined. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ I say. ‘I’ve always hated it too, and I could never figure out why.’

‘It’s a vanity thing,’ she observes.

‘Yes, it absolutely is!’

‘He’s fishing for compliments,’ she adds with a wink.

‘Aw, just have a guess,’ Tony says, frowning.

‘Fifty-five?’ Chrissie deadpans.

‘Hey,’ he exclaims. ‘We’re forty-two!’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I really am rubbish at this game.’

I’d have hoped that that would put a lid on it, but the men seem to be stuck on the topic of age, and now they are loudly telling us how ‘natural’ we look. ‘It’s great that you’re not the types to have stuff done. I mean, the whole ageing thing is so much easier for men,’ Gus observes.

‘Is it really?’ I ask. ‘Why’s that, then?’

‘We don’t have to worry, really. It just happens. It’s no big deal.’

I catch Chrissie’s eye, and she understands immediately and starts to pull on her jacket. ‘So, how d’you think it is for women?’ she asks.

‘A bloody battle,’ he chuckles. ‘My ex-wife was always having things done to her face – Botox, massage, awful skin-peeling treatments that stripped off the top layer …’

‘The top layer of what?’ Tony asks, looking alarmed now.

‘Of her face,’ Gus exclaims shuddering, taking a fortifying sip of his beer. ‘I can see it’s not a big thing for you, Viv,’ he adds. ‘Having treatments, I mean.’

‘Can you?’ What possessed me to tell him my name? If I’m going to be out roaming in public I need to become more adept at this.

‘Yeah. That’s what’s so refreshing about you. You look great, just as you are …’

‘Thank you,’ I say graciously.

‘… for your age,’ he concludes.

I bestow him with further thanks as Chrissie and I leave the pub, because naturally, a woman should be grateful for any raggedy scrap of a compliment that might flutter her way.

Once outside, I grab her arm as we start laughing. ‘So that’s what it’s like,’ she announces, ‘out there.’

We start to speed-walk home. ‘Clearly. I’m so glad I’m single and able to start dating again,’ I remark with a smile.

‘Really? Are you sure you’re ready for that?’

‘I’ll never be ready for that,’ I exclaim. ‘Lovely night, though—’

‘It really was. Let’s do it again …’

‘But maybe somewhere else?’ I suggest, and she laughs.