He looked the picture of the London gentleman in a crisp white shirt with a grey waistcoat over the top, matching cigarette-cut suit trousers and pointed black shoes that shined like mirrors when they caught the light. His usually curly hair was slicked back into submission bar the one stubborn lock that had been falling over his left eye and irritating him for as long as we had known each other. I leaned forward and tucked it back into the rest of his fringe. Neil took my hand and held it across the table. ‘It’s nice to see you, Lily,’ he said. ‘It’s been too long.’ ‘Yes,’ I murmured, pulling away and upsetting the flower arrangement that stood between us. Neil caught the falling vase just before it crashed over the pristine white tablecloth. Our relationship had been strained and uneasy for the past few months since I had walked out on him after his unsympathetic reaction to my then recently ended romance with Leonard. I’d received a few emails and text messages from him, breezy updates about his new job and flat in Hoxton.
