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are you?’ He stared up at the ceiling. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’
    ‘Of what?’
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘ What’s your favourite colour ? What am I – five years old?’
    ‘I hope not, otherwise I’m in serious trouble.’
    She turned her head and looked at him. ‘Okay. Well . . . colour? I’d have to say “red”, if we’re talking wine. Otherwise black.’
    ‘Black’s not really a colour.’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘It’s an absence of colour.’
    ‘It’ll be the colour of one of your eyes in a minute, if you continue being a wise ass.’ Sarah grinned at him. ‘I’ve just turned thirty-four. And I work in the City. That’s “City” with a capital “C”.’
    ‘The City’s a big place.’
    ‘For a bank called MC&P.’ She rolled over and reached for her handbag, retrieved a business card from an inside pocket, and handed it to him. ‘Strictly speaking, we’re what’s called a hedge fund. And no, that’s nothing to do with gardening, before you ask. ’
    ‘I wasn’t going to.’
    ‘What we do is . . .’
    Evan held his hand up. ‘Make a lot of rich people richer. Isn’t that what everyone in the City does?’
    She laughed. ‘Most of them. Especially themselves.’
    ‘And do you enjoy it? The work, I mean.’
    Sarah paused. ‘Not much.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Sometimes it can get a little . . . complicated.’
    ‘What is it you do, exactly?’
    ‘I’m in Risk Management.’
    ‘Oh. Right.’
    Sarah raised one eyebrow. ‘Do you know what that is?’
    ‘Will I understand if you tell me?’
    ‘Probably not. Some days I don’t get it myself. And they’re the days I don’t enjoy.’
    ‘So leave.’
    ‘Yeah, right. Great strategy.’
    ‘What’s wrong with it?’
    ‘Because I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to give up on it. And where would I go, for one thing?’
    ‘There’s always somewhere.’
    ‘Really? Try suggesting that to the Palestinians.’
    ‘That’s hardly the same thing.’
    ‘Evan, not everyone’s as lucky as you. We can’t all do the thing we love.’
    ‘You mean “do” in the English sense, right, and not the American ?’
    ‘Very funny.’
    ‘Okay, okay. Forget I said anything.’
    Sarah rolled over and rested her chin on his chest, then noticed the faint, semi-circular scar on his navel. ‘What’s this from? Knife fight? Jealous girlfriend?’ She traced the outline with her index finger . ‘Alien emergence?’
    ‘Car crash.’ Evan took her hand and gently moved it away from the injury. ‘When I was a kid. Drunk driver.’
    ‘Were you hurt badly?’
    ‘Nothing that couldn’t be fixed,’ he said, though in truth, it had been touch and go, and even now, on cold days, Evan’s insides ached where they’d stitched him back together.
    ‘What happened to the drunk?’
    ‘He died. Along with my mother, unfortunately.’
    Sarah sat up suddenly. ‘Evan, I’m so sorry.’
    ‘It was a long time ago.’
    She shook her head. ‘Serves him right, though. How did your father cope?’
    ‘My father was the drunk, Sarah.’
    She stared at him, wide-eyed, then half-smiled. ‘Aren’t we just the happy family pair?’
    He puffed air out of his cheeks. ‘It’s not so bad. Mel’s been looking out for me as if he’s my dad, and Finn . . . well, he’s like the brothe r I never had. Besides, like you said earlier – what can you do?’
    Sarah squeezed his hand. ‘Still, least we won’t have to endure any of those dull Christmases at the in-laws’.’
    ‘Quite.’ Evan flipped over onto his stomach. ‘So, where were w e?’
    ‘You were pumping me. For information.’
    ‘I was, wasn’t I? Right. Important question coming up . . .’ He looked directly at her. ‘What’s your favourite food?’
    ‘Sushi.’
    Evan made a face. ‘And there was I thinking we had all this stuff in common.’
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘It’s just . . . they treat it like some amazing delicacy, charge you loads of money for it, and . . .’
    ‘And