He watches her face, his fingers twirling his wine glass first one way, then the other. He wonders how long it’ll be before she asks. Maybe it’ll be easier once she has. Conversation has never come hard for them before, not even on that first date when they didn’t really have a clue about each other. Perhaps that’s the difference. Now they know too much.

‘I never said thanks. For when you told Keats the shootin’ was an accident.’

He had, sort of. He’d caught her eye and nodded once. She got it. But he never said it, and it could be important, reminding her that they really were on the same side, once.