‘Plus the fact that she told me.’

‘Did she?’ He shook his head, betrayed. ‘That was meant to be our secret!’

‘Women talk about these things you know. It’s no use swearing them to secrecy, it all comes out in the end.’

‘I’ll remember that in future.’

Now they had arrived at the entrance to the maze, a neatly trimmed privet hedge affair, a good ten feet high, its entrance marked by a heavy wooden door. Emma paused, her hand on the iron handle. ‘Is this a good idea?’

‘How hard can it be?’

‘And if we got lost?’

‘We’ll use the stars or something.’ The door creaked open. ‘Right or left?’

‘Right,’ said Emma, and they stepped into the maze. The high hedges were lit at ground level with different coloured lights, and the air had that summer smell, thick and heady, almost oily from the warm leaves. ‘Where’s Sylvie?’

‘Sylvie’s okay, she’s being Callumed. He’s being the life and soul, the charming Oirish millionaire. I thought I’d leave them to it. I can’t compete with him anymore. Too tiring.’

‘He’s doing very well, you know.’

‘So everyone tells me.’

‘Crayfish, apparently.’

‘I know. He just offered me a job.’

‘Crayfish wrangler?’

‘Don’t know yet. He wants to talk to me about “opportunities”. Business is people he said, whatever that means.’

‘But what about Sport Xtreme?

‘Ah,’ Dexter laughed and rubbed his hair with one hand. ‘You’ve seen it then?’

‘Never missed an episode. You know me, there’s nothing I like more in the early hours of the morning than stuff about BMX. My favourite bit is when you say that things are “rad”—’

‘They makeme say that stuff.’

‘“Rad” and “sweet”. “Check out these sweet, old skool moves—”’

‘I think I get away with it.’

‘Not always, pal. Left or right?’

‘Left, I think.’ They walked a little way in silence, listening to the muffled thump of the band playing ‘Superstition’. ‘How’s the writing going?’

‘Oh, it’s okay, when I do it. Most of the time I just sit around eating biscuits.’

‘Stephanie Shaw says they gave you an advance.’

‘Just a bit of money, enough to last ’til Christmas. Then we’ll see. Back to teaching full-time probably.’

‘And what’s it about? This book.’

‘Not sure yet.’

‘It’s about me, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Dexter, it’s a whole thick book entirely about you. It’s called “Dexter Dexter Dexter Dexter Dexter”. Right or left?’

‘Let’s try a left.’

‘Actually it’s just a book for kids. Teenagers. Boys, relationships, that kind of thing. It’s about a school play, that production of Oliver!I did all those years ago. A comedy.’

‘Well you look very well on it.’

‘Do I?’

‘Absolutely. Some people look better, some people look worse. You are definitely looking better.’

‘Miffy Buchanan tells me I’ve finally lost my puppy-fat.’

‘She’s just jealous. You look great.’

‘Thank you. Want me to say you look better too?’

‘If you think you can pull it off.’

‘Well you do. Left?’

‘Left.’

‘Better than during your rock and roll years anyway. When you were giving-it-large or whatever it was you were doing.’ They walked a little way in silence, until Emma spoke again. ‘I was worried about you.’

‘Were you?’

‘We all were.’

‘Just a phase. Everybody’s got to have a phase like that, haven’t they? Go a bit wild.’

‘Do they? I haven’t. Hey, I hope you’ve stopped wearing that annoying flat cap too.’

‘I haven’t worn a hat for years.’

‘Pleased to hear it. We were thinking about staging an intervention.’

‘You know how it is, you start with the soft hats, just for kicks, then before you know it, you’re into flat caps, trilbies, bowlers. .’

Another junction. ‘Right or left?’ she said.

‘No idea.’

They peered in either direction. ‘Amazing, isn’t it, how quickly this stopped being fun.’

‘Let’s sit down shall we? Over there.’

A small marble bench had been set into the hedge walls, lit from beneath by a blue fluorescent light, and they sat on the cool stone, filled their glasses, tapped them together and bumped shoulders.

‘God, I almost forgot. .’ Dexter reached into his trouser pocket, and very carefully removed a folded napkin, held it in his palm like a conjurer and unfolded it, a corner at a time. Nestling in the napkin like birds’ eggs, were two crumpled cigarettes.

‘From Cal,’ he whispered, awed. ‘Want one?’

‘No thank you. Haven’t touched one for years.’

‘Well done you. I’ve stopped too, officially. But I feel safe here. .’ He lit the contraband, his hand shaking stagily. ‘She can’t find me here. .’ Emma laughed. The champagne and the solitude had lifted their mood, and both were now feeling sentimental, nostalgic, exactly as they should feel at a wedding, and they smiled at each other through the smoke. ‘Callum says that we’re the “Marlboro-Light-Generation”.’

‘God, that’s depressing.’ Emma sniffed. ‘A whole generation defined by a brand of fag. I’d sort of hoped for more.’ She smiled, and turned to Dexter. ‘So. How are you these days?’

‘I’m fine. Bit more sensible.’

‘Sex in toilet cubicles lose its bittersweet charm?’

He laughed and examined the tip of the cigarette. ‘I just had to get something out of my system, that’s all.’

‘And is it out now?’

‘Think so, most of it.’

‘Because of true love?’

‘Partly. Also I’m thirty-four now. At thirty-four you start to run out of excuses.’

‘Excuses?’

‘Well, if you’re twenty-two and you’re fucking up, you can say, it’s okay I’m only twenty-two. I’m only twenty-five, I’m only twenty-eight. But “I’m only thirty-four”?’ He sipped from his glass, and leant back into the hedge. ‘It’s like everyone has a central dilemma in their life, and mine was can you be in a committed, mature, loving adult relationship and still get invited to threesomes?’

‘And what’s the answer, Dex?’ she asked, solemnly.

‘The answer is no, you can’t. Once you’ve worked that out, it all gets a bit simpler.’

‘It’s true; an orgy won’t keep you warm at night.’

‘An orgy won’t care for you when you’re old.’ He took another sip. ‘Anyway, it’s not even as if I was getting invited to any in the first place, just making a fool of myself, screwing things up. Screwed up my career, screwed up with Mum—’

‘—well that’s not true—’

‘—screwed up all my friendships.’ For emphasis, Dexter leant against her arm, and she leant back against his. ‘I just thought it was time to do things properly for once. And now I’ve met Sylvie, and she’s great, she really is, and she keeps me on the straight and narrow.’

‘Well she’s a lovely girl.’

‘She is. She is.’

‘Very beautiful. Serene.’

‘A little bit scary sometimes.’

‘She’s got a lovely, warm sort of Leni Riefenstahl quality to her.’

‘Lenny who?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course she’s got absolutely no sense of humour.’

‘Well that’s a relief. I think a sense of humour’s over-rated,’ said Emma. ‘Goofing it up all the time, it’s boring. Like Ian. ’Cept Ian wasn’t funny. No, much better to have somebody you really fancy, someone who’ll rub your feet.’

He tried and failed to imagine Sylvie touching his feet. ‘She told me once that she never laughs because she doesn’t like what it does to her face.’

Emma gave a low chuckle. ‘Wow’ was all she could say. ‘Wow. But you love her, right?’

‘I adore her.’

‘Adore. Well “adore” is even better.’

‘She’s sensational.’

‘She is.’

‘And she’s really turned things around for me too. I’m off the drugs and booze and not smoking.’ She glanced at the bottle in his hand, the cigarette in his mouth. He smiled. ‘Special occasion.’

‘So true love found you in the end.’

‘Something like that.’ He filled her glass. ‘How about you?’

‘Oh, I’m fine. I’m fine.’ As a distraction, she stood. ‘Let’s keep walking, shall we? Left or right?’