‘My turn next!’ says Emma, but no-one laughs and right on cue the baby wakes upstairs.

‘What someone needs to invent,’ says Adam, ‘is a chloroformed baby wipe.’

Stephanie sighs and trudges out, and Emma decides she will definitely head home soon. She can stay up late, work on the manuscript. The phone buzzes again. A message from Dexter, asking her to schlep out to Surrey to keep him company.

She turns the phone off.

‘. . I know it’s a long way, it’s just I think I might be suffering from post-natal depression. Get in a cab, I’ll pay. Sylvie’s not here! Not that it makes any difference, I know, but. . there’s a spare bedroom, if you wanted to stay over. Anyway, call me if you get this. Bye.’ He hesitates, says another ‘Bye’ and hangs up. A pointless message. He blinks and shakes his head, and pours more wine. Scrolling through the phone’s address book, he comes to S for Suki Mobile.

Initially there is no reply, and he finds himself relieved, because after all what good can come of it, the phone-call to an old girlfriend? He’s about to hang up, when suddenly he hears the distinctive bellow.

‘HELLO!’

‘Hey there!’ He dusts off his presenter’s smile.

‘WHO IS THIS?’ She’s shouting over the sound of a party, a restaurant perhaps.

‘Make some noise!’

‘WHAT? WHO IS THIS?’

‘You have to guess!’

‘WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU. .’

‘I said “guess who?”. .’

‘I CAN’T HEAR YOU, WHO IS THIS?’

‘You have to guess!’

‘WHO?’

‘I SAID YOU HAVE TO. .’ The game has become exhausting, so he just says ‘It’s Dexter!’

There’s a moment’s pause.

‘Dexter? Dexter Mayhew?’

‘How many Dexters do you know, Suki?’

‘No, I know which Dexter, I’m just, like. . WAHEY, DEXTER! Hello, Dexter! Hold on. .’ He hears the scrape of a chair and imagines eyes following her, intrigued, as she leaves the restaurant table and walks into a corridor. ‘So how are you, Dexter?’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m just, you know, phoning to say I saw you tonight on the telly, and it got me thinking about old times, and I thought I’d phone and say Hi. You looked great by the way. On TV. And I like the show. Great format.’ Great format? You clown. ‘So. How are you, Suki?’

‘Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine.’

‘You’re everywhere! You’re doing really well! Really!’

‘Thank you. Thanks.’

There’s a silence. Dexter’s thumb caresses the off button. Hang up. Pretend the line’s gone down. Hang up, hang up, hang up. .

‘It’s been, what, five years, Dex!’

‘I know, I was thinking about you just now, because I saw you on TV. And you looked great by the way. And how are you?’ Don’t say that, you’ve said that already. Concentrate!‘I mean, where are you? It’s very noisy. .’

‘A restaurant. I’m having dinner, with some mates.’

‘Anyone I know?’

‘Don’t think so. They’re kind of newfriends.’

Newfriends. Could that be hostility? ‘Right. Okay.’

‘So. Where are you, Dexter?’

‘Oh, I’m at home.’

‘Home? On a Saturday night? That’s not like you!’

‘Well, you know. .’ and he’s about to tell her that he’s married, has a kid, lives in the suburbs, but feels that this might serve to underline the sheer futility of the phone-call, so instead stays silent. The pause goes on for some time. He notices that there’s an epaulette of snot on the cotton sweater he once wore to Pacha, and he has become aware of the new scent on his fingertips, an unholy cocktail of nappy sacks and prawn crackers.

Suki speaks. ‘So, main course has just arrived. .’

‘Okay, well, anyway, I was just thinking about old times, and thinking it would be nice to see you! You know for lunch or a drink or something. .’

The background music fades as if Suki has stepped into some private corner. In a hardened voice she says, ‘You know what, Dexter? I don’t think that’s such a good idea.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘I mean I haven’t seen you for five years now, and I think when that happens there’s usually a reason, don’t you?’

‘I just thought—’

‘I mean it’s not as if you were ever that niceto me, never that interested, you were off your face most of the time—’

‘Oh, that’s not true!’

‘You weren’t even faithfulto me, for fuck’s sake, you were usually off fucking some runner or waitress or whatever so I don’t know where you get off now, phoning up like we’re old pals and getting nostalgicabout “old times”, our golden six months that were, quite frankly, pretty shitty for me.’