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watching.’
    ‘Everyone was watching.’
    He waved a hand, brushing the objection aside since he knew it was true. ‘It was just friendly.’
    ‘We are not friends.’ It was a statement of fact but the words fell between us like a challenge.
    Derwent shifted his chair back a couple of inches and I thought he was going to walk off, but he stayed where he was. After a moment, he said, ‘Anyway. It was your fault for wearing that dress.’
    That made me look at him. ‘What did you say?’
    ‘There wasn’t much of it, was there?’
    ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that gave you a licence to grope me. What should I have been wearing? A suit like this, so you didn’t accidentally forget I was your colleague?’ I dropped the sugar-sweet sarcasm. ‘It was a wedding. A party. I wore a party dress. Maybe I should have got hold of a burqa since you find it so hard to control yourself when confronted by a fucking frock.’
    I had actually, genuinely, lost my temper. Before Derwent could answer me I stood up and stalked to the ladies, using it as a refuge for the second time that night. It took a full two minutes for my hands to stop shaking. I shook my head at my reflection as I ran water into the sink, annoyed with myself for letting Derwent get to me. There was a better than evens chance he would punish me by leaving without me, and then I’d be stuck at this soulless, depressing rest stop for hours.
    When I came out of the loo to find the teenager wiping the table we had used, my heart sank. Derwent had gone.
    ‘Where is he?’
    ‘He left.’ The teenager folded the cloth a couple of times. In a rush, as if he had to tell someone, he said, ‘He gave me twenty quid.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Just now.’
    ‘Guilt,’ I explained. ‘Did he apologise for being rude?’
    ‘He asked me if I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I said yeah, and he said if it didn’t involve selling coffee I should quit and get a real job.’
    Of course he did. ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘No, he’s right. This is shit. The pay is shit. I’m going to do it.’ He grinned at me. ‘Tell him I said thanks.’
    Instant Stockholm Syndrome. Derwent’s magic touch struck again. Of course he couldn’t do anything as straightforward as apologise for being an arse. And of course it worked.
    I thanked the teenager and headed for the car park. I saw Derwent through the glass doors, sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting. He was scrolling through messages on his phone when I got to the car, his expression forbidding.
    ‘If you think you can buy me off with twenty quid and some career advice, you’ve got another think coming,’ I said. ‘I want a proper apology.’
    ‘Get stuffed.’ Derwent was still focused on his inbox.
    ‘Right.’ I was looking at the cup holder by the handbrake. He’d rescued the coffee I hadn’t been able to drink. A paper bag was propped against the cup. ‘What’s this?’
    He reversed out of the space and cut through the car park, ignoring the arrows for the one-way system. ‘Your usual. Bacon sandwich, extra lard.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘You need to eat something. You might not feel like it now, but you’ll be hungry later.’
    I was really trying to stay angry, but I couldn’t quite manage it. ‘Thank you.’
    He glanced across at me. ‘I think it’s stale. The kid gave it to me for free.’
    ‘Yeah, yeah.’ I shook my head. ‘You really are annoying, you know.’
    ‘If anyone is pissed off, it should be me. I was two inches away from getting into the bridesmaid’s knickers when you did your coitus interruptus bit.’
    ‘Godley told me to find you.’
    ‘And little miss nosy knew just where to look.’
    ‘You’re predictable. But I’m sorry. How long did you need? Two, three minutes maybe?’
    ‘Oh, ha ha.’ It was his I’ve-had-enough tone and I took the hint.
    ‘Look, she’s a friend of Christine’s. You can get her number. I’m sure you can charm your way back into her pants in no