I had no idea what he was talking about but I wasn’t going to show him that, so I just gave him a quick smile and turned my attention to Clio. She looked amazing. She’d managed to mix just enough sex appeal with a huge great dollop of class by wearing pale blue jeans, a white cotton shirt and a wide leather belt that showed off her narrow waist. There wasn’t a skin-tight T-shirt or too-short skirt in sight. It made me wonder what the other barmaids made of their new colleague. She must stick out like a sore thumb. Still, Eddie hadn’t said that there was any tension there, so maybe she’d just charmed them, too. For someone with so little sense of self, Clio was doing remarkably well. She was just blossoming, like a bud in springtime.

‘Shall we sit over there?’ I said to Marlon, nodding at a table away from the bar. I was worried about putting Clio off as she worked, but I realised just too late that it might look like I was aiming for a cosy corner for two. ‘We don’t want to get under Clio’s feet, do we?’ I added quickly.

I just knew that Marlon would be smirking, but I didn’t look at him, concentrating steadfastly on my destination instead. I was desperately trying to play things cool, but it didn’t seem to be working. My heart was racing in anticipation and my unruly memory would keep flashing up that lighthouse kiss.

I found a small round table towards the middle of the room where I could still speak to Clio without shouting, but which wasn’t in her way and settled myself in a chair that faced the bar, leaving Marlon to take his pick of the others. He lifted one by its ladder-back and put it down side by side with mine.

‘You can’t sit there!’ I objected. ‘We’ll look like a judging panel!’

‘Ah, she won’t mind,’ said Marlon, and for the first time I felt what I could only assume was a twinge of jealousy that he knew my new friend better than I did. It was like being back at school – ridiculous, really. He and Clio had known each other for years. Of course they could predict each other’s reactions better than I could, but it still threw me off-beam a bit.

‘But actually,’ Marlon said, standing up and moving his chair so that he was sitting opposite me with his back to the bar, ‘if I sit here, I can look at you . . .’

Oh God, I thought. Pass the bucket, but secretly I was thrilled.

‘. . . which would be good, because I was going to ask if I could sketch you.’

He produced a battered sketchbook and a stubby pencil from his pocket. I was stunned into silence.