Hair. Lipgloss. Dab of cinnamon perfume. When I walked back into the café, Joe had arrived and was sitting at a table in a quiet corner at the back. He was looking his usual handsome self in jeans and a blue fleece and he waved when he saw me. I made my way over and as I got to him wondered how to greet him. Casual kiss on the cheek? Maybe. Hug? Too sisterly. Handshake? Definitely not. I sat down opposite and gave him a strange kind of salute which was like a hand flick. ‘So. Hi,’ I said. He looked quizzically at my hand and then did the hand flick salute back. ‘Yeah. Hi. So . . . what’s up?’ ‘Next scenery meeting in two weeks’ time. Can’t do.’ Joe shrugged. ‘OK. No prob. What you got on?’ ‘My grandmother’s seventieth. Italy. All the family are going. Sorry to dump it all on you but there’s no getting out of it.’ ‘Wow. Italy. Fab. No prob about the scenery though. It sounded like everyone loved the designs from what Tim said –lime, orange and bright pink, yeah?
