“Give it a rest, Corstorphine. Glass half empty again?” His disembodied wife laughed beside him, poking fun at his moodiness, encouraging him as she often did, to enjoy life. While it lasted.

“Aye. I know, lass.” He spoke the words with the ease of someone long used to communicating with the dead. “I always was a morose bastard.” She faded away as the village inn lights came into view, and by the time he’d turned into the car park there was nothing left of her, just a touch of warmth around his heart. Corstorphine remained in the car for a few minutes, mentally filing the day’s events away before he felt able to face the world.

There was a woman already sitting at the table the waitress pointed out to him, and her eyes flicked towards him as he approached. She looked no older than thirty, certainly a lot younger than her slightly out of focus online profile had suggested. All too often the dating apps lied more than politicians; photographs taken before the last flush of youth had departed were presented as ‘recent’. The duplicity of those seeking a relationship was slightly offensive to his detective’s mindset, but he knew enough about life to make allowances for the air of desperation that adhered to some of those serial daters he had encountered. This was a novelty for him, a woman appearing younger than her photograph. She raised her hand to beckon him over, her fingers performing a Mexican wave in his direction.

“James Corstorphine, sorry I’m late.” He proffered a hand to the woman, suddenly taken by the panicked thought that perhaps this wasn’t his date and wondering how best to extricate himself, even as his hand was grasped by hers.

“Jenny Peck. No, you’re quite on time. I’m early, so I started without you.” She tilted her head towards a glass of wine. “Can I get you a drink?”

Corstorphine sat at the table, flustered by the role reversal that had just taken place. “No, let me.” His protestations went ignored. She had already raised a hand, beckoning over the waitress with an imperial wave. “I insist! What will you have?” They both stared at him, the woman with an amused air as if he’d just said something witty, the waitress with professional indifference.

“Do you have a non-alcoholic beer?” Corstorphine suddenly felt ineffectual, off balance, wondering how the initiative had been so easily taken away.

“We’ve got non-alcoholic lager.” The waitress waited, stylus poised over some iPad arrangement that he supposed was electronically connected directly to the bar.

“Yes, that’s fine. Thanks.” She placed the menus down on the table and after a second’s hesitation, which wasn’t lost on him, put the wine list down on Jenny’s side of the table.

“Hard day?” His blind date asked the question whilst raising her glass to her lips, observing him over the upturned rim.

“Aye. Busy enough. How about you – you’re a nurse, is that right?” Corstorphine felt instantly more at ease asking the questions and took the opportunity to search her face for any clues as to character. Apart from dark brown eyes that held his in an amused stare, he was none the wiser. Those detective skills, honed year after year from searching faces for guile or guilt, came back empty. She was attractive enough, a light touch with the makeup which was a relief, auburn hair falling naturally to her shoulders. A momentary panic hit him as it crossed his mind she might be younger than he first thought.