'Not half bad, is it?' Maureen was croaking to Miles. 'We've been full all day.'
'All right, girls,' Miles addressed his family, 'what'll we have to keep up Grandpa's profits?'
Samantha listlessly ordered a bowl of soup, as Howard waddled through from the delicatessen; he had been striding in and out of the cafe every ten minutes all day, greeting customers and checking the flow of cash into the till.
'Roaring success,' he told Miles, squeezing in at their table. 'What d'you think of the place, Sammy? You haven't seen it before, have you? Like the mural? Like the china?'
'Mm,' said Samantha. 'Lovely.'
'I was thinking about having my sixty-fifth here,' said Howard, absent-mindedly scratching at the itch Parminder's creams had not yet cured, 'but it's not big enough. I think we'll stick with the church hall.'
'When's that, Grandpa?' piped up Lexie. 'Am I coming?'
'Twenty-ninth, and what are you now - sixteen? Course you can come,' said Howard happily.
'The twenty-ninth?' said Samantha. 'Oh, but ...'
Shirley looked at her sharply.
'Howard's been planning this for months. We've all been talking about it for ages.'
'... that's the night of Libby's concert,' said Samantha.
'A school thing, is it?' asked Howard.
'No,' said Libby, 'Mum's got me tickets for my favourite group. It's in London.'
'And I'm going with her,' said Samantha. 'She can't go alone.'
'Harriet's mum says she could - '
'I'm taking you, Libby, if you're going to London.'
'The twenty-ninth?' said Miles, looking hard at Samantha. 'The day after the election?'
Samantha let loose the derisive laugh that she had spared Maureen.
'It's the Parish Council, Miles. It's not as though you'll be giving press conferences.'
'Well, we'll miss you, Sammy,' said Howard, as he hauled himself up with the aid of the back of her chair. 'Best get on ... all right, Andrew, you're done here ... go and see if we need anything up from the cellar.'
Andrew was forced to wait beside the counter while people passed to and from the bathroom. Maureen was loading up Sukhvinder with plates of sandwiches.
'How's your mother?' she asked the girl abruptly, as though the thought had just occurred to her.
'Fine,' said Sukhvinder, her colour rising.
'Not too upset by that nasty business on the council website?'
'No,' said Sukhvinder, her eyes watering.
Andrew proceeded out into the dank yard, which, in the early afternoon, had become warm and sunny. He had hoped that Gaia might be there, taking a breath of fresh air, but she must have gone into the staff room in the deli. Disappointed, he lit up a cigarette. He had barely inhaled when Gaia emerged from the cafe, finishing her lunch with a can of fizzy drink.
'Hi,' said Andrew, his mouth dry.
'Hi,' she said. Then, after a moment or two: 'Hey, why's that friend of yours such a shit to Sukhvinder? Is it personal or is he racist?'
'He isn't racist,' said Andrew. He removed the cigarette from his mouth, trying to keep his hands from trembling, but could not think of anything else to say. The sunshine reflected off the bins warmed his sweaty back; close proximity to her in the tight black dress was almost overwhelming, especially now that he had glimpsed what lay beneath. He took another drag of the cigarette, not knowing when he had felt so bedazzled or so alive.
'What's she ever done to him, though?'
The curve of her hips to her tiny waist; the perfection of her wide, flecked eyes over the can of Sprite. Andrew felt like saying, Nothing, he's a bastard, I'll hit him if you let me touch you ...
Sukhvinder emerged into the yard, blinking in the sunlight; she looked uncomfortable and hot in Gaia's top.
'He wants you back in,' she said to Gaia.
'He can wait,' said Gaia coolly. 'I'm finishing this. I've only had forty minutes.'
Andrew and Sukhvinder contemplated her as she sipped her drink, awed by her arrogance and her beauty.
'Was that old bitch saying something to you just then, about your mum?' Gaia asked Sukhvinder.
Sukhvinder nodded.
'I think it might've been his mate,' she said, staring at Andrew again, and he found her emphasis on his positively erotic, even if she meant it to be derogatory, 'who put that message about your mum on that website.'
'Can't've been,' said Andrew, and his voice wobbled slightly. 'Whoever did it went after my old man, too. Couple of weeks ago.'
'What?' asked Gaia. 'The same person posted something about your dad?'
He nodded, relishing her interest.
'Something about stealing, wasn't it?' asked Sukhvinder, with considerable daring.
'Yeah,' said Andrew. 'And he got the sack for it yesterday.