Zoe walks into the Duck and Cover on Saturday night, halfway through the general knowledge round.
‘Hello stranger,’ I say.
She leans across the bar top and kisses me. ‘Present,’ she says, handing me a carrier bag.
Flip-flops.
‘I love them,’ I tell her. ‘They’re so . . . pink.’
‘So I don’t lose you,’ Zoe says, and she kisses me again.