Ties had been loosened or undone altogether. An office night out, Mike guessed, maybe celebrating a satisfactory deal. He knew how those nights could go. People he’d worked with, they’d often commented on how he never seemed to get quite drunk enough, never seemed completely elated whenever a major contract was concluded. He could have told them: I like to stay in control. Could have added a postscript; these days. The men were on to coffee and brandies by the time his food arrived, meaning that they were getting ready to leave as he asked for his bill. Rising to his feet, he saw that one of the men was losing his balance as he shrugged his arms into his coat. With the diner threatening to back into Mike’s table, Mike held a hand out to steady him. The bleary head turned towards him.

‘What you up to then?’ the man slurred.

‘Just stopping you falling over.’

Another of the group had decided to step in. ‘Did you touch him?’ he asked Mike. Then, to his friend: ‘He lay a finger on you, Rab?’

But Rab was concentrating on staying upright, and had nothing further to say on the subject.

‘I was trying to help,’ Mike argued. The men were gathering round him in a semicircle. He knew how easily these things could turn tribal – five against the world.

‘Well, help yourself right now and piss off,’ Rab’s friend snapped.

‘Before you find your face on the wrong end of a bottling,’ one of the others piped up. The waiters were looking on anxiously. One had pushed open the nearby swing door to alert the kitchen.

‘Fine.’ With his hands held up in a conciliatory gesture, Mike headed for the street. Once outside, he moved briskly along the pavement, glancing back. If they were going to come after him, he wanted a bit of distance. Distance meant time to think, to assess the situation. Risk versus return. He was fifty yards away before the men emerged. They were arm in arm, pointing across the street towards their next destination: another pub.