THEY met at his restaurant and dated three times before Megan told Bruno she had a kid. Children made Bruno anxious, but he’d fallen hard. The day Bruno moved in, the boy, in his bedroom, listened to the repeated slap of the screen door. Hours later, he was called for dinner. ‘Shrimp jumbalaya!’ Bruno trumpeted. ‘Get fucked!’ the boy shouted back. ‘Beef carpaccio!’ Bruno announced the following night. ‘Shove it up your arse!’ And so it went. ‘Pork loin!’ ‘You’re not my dad, pervert!’ ‘Duck liver parfait!’ ‘Cock!’ But then, one evening: ‘Beef Madras!’ A pause. ‘With paste or from scratch?’