He reached into his jacket — a smart leather job from Gap — and placed a green pack on the table. Falls snorted, said:

‘Fucking menthol! How gay is that?’

She extracted one, smelled it, managing to add a note of sensuality to the gesture, then snapped her fingers, said:

‘Light.’

He wanted to reach over, smack her in the mouth but suppressed it, fired her up. She did that annoying thing women do, took two drags, stubbed it out. Well, stabbed it twice in the ashtray, leaving it to smoulder. He reached over, burnt his fingers as he tried to extinguish the glow. He saw a flicker of a smile touch her lips. The barman breezed over, a tray held aloft, a riot of crisps and peanuts on it. Falls asked:

‘What’s the deal on the snacks? I didn’t order them.’

Chuckle from the barman, he nodded towards Porter, said:

‘Experience, darlin’. Been as long in this game as I have, you know your punter who’s going to want his salt ‘n’ vinegar. This way I save a trip.’

Falls took the glasses, handed one to Porter, said:

‘He’ll need paying.’

It was twice what Porter would have guessed; he didn’t figure on much return from his twenty. The barman was back at the bar when Falls shouted:

‘Pack of B amp;H.’

Got the look.

Porter sniffed his drink, asked:

‘Vodka? At those prices, they must be doubles.’

She nodded and took a hefty slug, Porter couldn’t drink it neat and shouted towards the bar:

‘Bottle of tonic… slimline.’

When the barman sniggered, Porter realised he was sounding like Arthur Daley which would never be a good idea. When the tonic and cigs came, the barman glared at Porter. As he left, Porter asked:

‘What was that about?’

Falls was opening peanuts, said:

‘He’s homophobic.’

‘Ah, come on, you’re saying he knows I’m gay?’