I accept a glass of red wine, the red being more drinkable than the white in The Fiddler’s, and we find ourselves a bit of window to lean against. There is no hope of getting stools, of course, not at this point in the evening. Occasionally, someone goes out into the main bar, steals a stool and drags it back in triumphantly like a Neanderthal belting out of the cave to steal a bit of someone else’s woolly mammoth.
Philip is regaling us with stories of the Drama Society Christmas party when he’d been a student, and is on his third hot whiskey – he drinks hot whiskey because, he says, he is always cold – when Adrienne arrives and inserts herself into the group, demanding introductions. The trio of newcomers are delighted to see her and chat away. Not a hint of shyness among them.
Finn turns to me and says quietly, close to my ear, ‘I hope this was OK. Should I have rung beforehand, or texted? I just thought it would be nice to drop in and see you. Otherwise we’d be going to the same old dull pub. And I thought it would be nice to say hello. How’s your week been?’
‘It’s fine to do this,’ I say, trying to sound blasé, ‘absolutely fine. I just come in for a couple of glasses of wine and then I head off.’
‘You’re not heading off yet,’ he says, looking upset in a way I find deeply flattering and then, instantly, bewildering. What is wrong with me?
Even though it’s too early to phone a taxi at this point, ready to hear about Gareth’s chugs, Pickle and Kiki, I shake my head.
‘No, not heading off yet,’ I say and his eyes glitter as he looks at me.
Just then Adrienne appears at my side. ‘I like your man,’ she whispers into my ear.
‘He’s not my man,’ I hiss back. ‘He’s a friend.’
‘Oh, well, I like yourfriend,’ says Adrienne naughtily. ‘Can I be his friend too?’
‘He has enough friends,’ I say primly. ‘Besides, I thought you were seeing someone?’
‘I’m always seeing someone,’ says Adrienne. ‘I don’t know why. You’d think I’d know better after being married twice.’
‘Third time’s the charm,’ I say.
‘And you know this, how?’ she asks. We both laugh.
‘Isn’t romance a triumph of hope over hideous experiences or something like that?’ I say.
She gives me a searching look. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ she says to Finn and wanders off again.
‘It’s noisy here,’ he says. ‘Is there a quieter bit of the pub where we can talk?’
The Fiddler’s Elbow has no quiet bits. It’s like a giant cocktail party on acid on a Friday night, full of revellers, loud stories and, soon, live music, which just means people have to roar their stories at full volume.
‘There’s a teeny wine bar down the road. I’ve had lunch there with my boss Adrienne, whom you just met, a few times. I’ve never been at night but it might be quieter.’
We quietly make our escape from the crowd at The Fiddler’s and, ten minutes later, we’re installed at a small table in the wine bar and have two glasses of decent wine in front of us, along with menus.
‘Oh, mushroom risotto,’ says Finn, almost moaning. ‘I can never resist it.’
I look up at him. ‘That’s one of my favourite things to eat.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. But the portions are huge here. We could –’ I pause. ‘We could get a big one and share.’
‘Excellent plan.’
I used to share meals with Marc but with another man – never. Yet this feels utterly normal. As if I’ve known him for years. Weird.
We order and chat idly, getting to know each other.
‘First pet?’ asks Finn.
‘A kitten called Miaow when I was three. She was what they call calico – many colours – and she adored me. We had lots of animals, including, once, a cockatoo, but we were only taking care of it. But Miaow was my first baby. You?’
