He listens to me, a grin growing on his face. Not really a nice grin, for all it looks good on him, but yeah, ‘crazy psycho bitch’ is about what I’d have called her if I were telling that story to anyone else. “It usually works,” I can’t help protesting. “I get paid to stop people hitting other people, and I have tapped men twice her size the same way, and they went down.”

He’s looking from me to the tea shop and back, starting to laugh, but not like he’s really happy. I think he still loves this woman. God, I don’t know whether to feel sorry for him or not. Not really feeling sorry for myself for missing out taking advantage of her services. Not after what he just did to me. “Haven’t heard her called that, exactly, but I can see how she’d be good at it. Prefer being hit by men, myself, if I have a choice.” And really, there’s no way to say that without looking sideways at him. Can’t pretend it didn’t happen, so we might as well talk about it. Maybe talk about doing it again some time.

When he brings up her husband, I’m tempted to ask all sorts of questions, like why’s an engaged woman getting married to another man, and whose fault is the baby she’s carrying, but that’s none of my business. “No mention was made of a husband. Should I be worried?”