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“I’m here every day, Monday to Saturday.” I give him a nonchalant shrug.

Before he can reply, his own mobile starts to ring. He groans as he pulls it out of the pocket of his jacket.

“Would you mind if I came by to see you in the week?” he asks, diverting the call to his message service.

“Like I said, I’m here all week.”

“I gather that the name on the door means you own this place?”

His phone trills again.

“Perhaps you should head off before somebody gets upset that you’re running late,” I suggest, but he diverts the call to the message service again.

“I’ll come by in the week, Dee, if only to pay you for the shirt.”

“Have a good evening,” I reply. For a split second, I’m tempted to add “sir” at the end, but I don’t think he would find it amusing.

His eyes hold mine for a moment, and then he turns and heads towards the front door, pausing as he gets there.

“I’ll see you soon, I promise,” he says, and then he steps outside, disappearing into the darkness outside.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I mutter, pulling my handbag from under the counter and throwing the strap angrily over my shoulder. I’m confident I won’t see Joseph Wakefield again, because the last time he told me he’d see me soon—the last time he made me a promise—he broke everything and disappeared from my life.

With a huff of annoyance, I toss my long blonde hair over my shoulders, and then I march around the floor, flicking off lights, switching off the sewing machine, muttering to myself before throwing my denim jacket on and stepping out into the street. I lock the door behind me, then pull down the shutters to secure the shop. I look up and down the street, but Joseph is nowhere to be seen.

I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.

I pull my mobile out of my bag so I can check my messages, seeing the one I heard earlier was from Felix, promising me he was only two minutes away. The bar is on the corner of the street, so I walk along the pavement, trying to drop the frown from my face. I know it’ll only take a second for me to blurt out to Felix that I bumped into Joseph. It’ll take the rest of the evening for Felix to stop ranting, I’m sure.

I push the door to the bar open, the music blaring out. It’s karaoke night. I knew it was, but I’m still unprepared. Onstage is a woman who looks very worse for wear, despite it being early in the evening. She doesn’t look like she’s dressed for a hen party, nor a celebration. She’s wearing jeans, a grungy-looking tee-shirt, boots, and a scowl, and she’s butchering a Diana Ross and the Supremes song. I don’t like to sing in public, but even I could do better than her rage singing. I wonder what’s upset her. The way she’s screeching the lyrics makes me think it must be a man.

I fight my way through the small crowd near the bar, heading towards the corner where I can see Felix has managed to find a seat, somehow arriving before me. He’s still taking off his jacket, so I assume he hasn’t been here long.

“Delilah,” he calls to me, waving like I haven’t seen him. He sits down and beams at me as I weave through the last of the crowd.

“Felix, I need to sit down. I didn’t think it would ever be possible that you arrived somewhere before me, and I’m very unsettled,” I joke, raising my voice over the sound of the unhappy woman screeching.

I shake off my jacket, throwing it onto the back of the chair along with my bag, then slide into the seat next to him.

“You do look a little unsettled,” he comments, brow furrowed. “Shall I leave and come back in five minutes, just so you can get out your usual snarky comments that I’m late?”

He starts to get up, so I grab his arm and pull him back, laughing.

“I know I probably look unsettled, but it isn’t because you’re here first. I bumped into somebody. You will never guess who.”

“Are you going to give me any clues?” he asks.

He grabs one of the cocktail menus from the middle of the table, flicking through the pages. I watch as his green eyes skim across the descriptions of the drinks, though I don’t know why he’s bothering. Felix is as predictable as I am, and this menu hasn’t changed in the years since we started coming here. He’ll have a White Russian. I’ll have an espresso martini. He’ll roll his eyes at my drink and proclaim I don’t need more caffeine. I’ll glare at his drink because who the hell wants cream with their alcohol.

Felix lowers the menu slightly and looks at me expectantly.

“What if I said a teacher from school?” I ask, and the menu falls from his hand, landing back on the table just as the woman singing attempts a note that is completely out of her range, or, at least, more out of range than the other notes have been so far.

Felix winces. “I’m pretty sure she just ruptured my eardrum, because I know I misheard you saying one of our teachers.”

“No, I said that. More specifically, my teacher rather than yours.”

“You better be talking about good old Ms Winters, because if you’re talking about—”