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his phone over to Simon, about now would have been when he would have paused to send Helen a text telling her how well things were going. It felt odd not being able to undertake this small but important act and even more odd that he’d only now realised how important these daily interactions with Helen were to him. Some of his friends might interpret such a desire as an indication that he was under the thumb, but he wasn’t all that bothered. Whether he was just about to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize or had snagged a fingernail on his favourite jumper, there was one person in the world to whom the news would be equally important as it was to him.
    As Phil approached the boys he sensed that something was wrong. When he had left they had been swapping anecdotes about their best holidays but now they were oddly muted, as though for his benefit they had hastily arranged a change of topic for which none of them could muster much enthusiasm.
    His curiosity piqued, Phil determined to monitor the situation and so picked up his half empty beer glass while the conversation limped on around him like the work of a bunch of bad actors in an improv class.
    ‘No, I can’t stand them,’ said Reuben.
    ‘Me neither,’ said Spencer.
    ‘They’re all right,’ said Degsy. ‘Mind, I have to be in the right mood for them like.’
    There was a long silence then Deano looked at Simon. ‘What about you mate?’
    ‘They’re not bad, I suppose,’ shrugged Simon. ‘But I can’t say they’d make my top five.’
    Phil could torture them no more. ‘What’s wrong with you lot?’
    ‘What are you talking about?’ said Degsy, delivering his outrage like a second-rate soap star. ‘There’s nothing wrong with us.’
    ‘No? So why when I left you were you all having a laugh and now I’m back you’re talking about . . . let me guess . . . how you feel about cheese and onion crisps?’ Degsy widened his eyes as though convinced his best mate had learned how to read minds. ‘Mate, how long have I know you? Thirty-odd years? Do you really think I don’t know that under pressure to drum up a change of conversation your stock question is: what’s your least favourite crisp flavour? You’ve been asking people that since we were at primary school. What are you hiding?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    Phil rolled his eyes as Deano cast a withering glance in Degsy’s direction.
    ‘I told you not to do the crisp thing,’ snapped Deano.
    ‘Don’t try and drop me in it,’ protested Degsy. ‘It’s not like anyone else was saying anything.’
    Deano set his glass down on the table and addressed Phil. ‘Look, mate, we didn’t mean anything by it but you’re right, we were sort of talking about you.’
    ‘Only because you brought it up,’ replied Spencer.
    ‘Doesn’t really matter who said what,’ said Phil. ‘All I want to know is what you were saying.’
    ‘We were debating why you’re getting married,’ revealed Deano reluctantly, ‘because, come on mate, it’s not like you need to, is it? You and your missus have been together ages. Why would you want to change things for no good reason?’
    ‘I’ve got my own good reasons, thank you very much.’
    ‘Of course you have,’ said Deano. ‘And we shouldn’t have brought it up. We were out of order.’
    ‘You’re right,’ said Phil. ‘But now the topic’s up for grabs why don’t you tell us why you married Sheena.’
    Deano and Sheena had met at a pound a shot night at a bar in the centre of Nottingham back when Deano had been in his mid-twenties. A fiery relationship from its consummation, it wasn’t expected to last beyond a few months, let alone the four years that they managed to rack up together as cohabitees, then husband and wife.
    ‘Because it was what she wanted,’ said Deano.
    ‘So you just went along with the idea?’
    ‘Pretty much.’
    ‘Not exactly the greatest endorsement for marriage I’ve ever heard,’ said Phil stifling a grin.
    Deano mulled the comment