Watching a couple in a cafe on a Sunday morning

He is in absolute command; listening, but waiting for her to finish. The palm of his hand leaves a red impression on his face before it is his turn to tell a story, to share another interesting anecdote. Having already eaten that morning, he orders a slice of cherry pie. She orders a sandwich. Not a good sign for the balance, or indeed the health of this early relationship - he didn’t care enough about the date to avoid spoiling his appetite. She laughs without restraint at the one liners that burgeon from his unkempt face between forkfuls of pie, while she has barely touched her sandwich.

She has been playing out the occasion in her head for the past week: vetting the location, deciding what to eat and what to wear; rehearsing how she would laugh, the stories she would share and at what point in the meeting she would invite him to join her at a beer garden she knows, where they can get to know each other better.

One half of her sandwich will be left, pieces of a torn sugar sachet will be in a neat little pile on his side of the table. At the beer garden, the afternoon sun will go to their heads like champagne as they fuel their inhibitions, and show each other their cards in a game that will end with a proposition, an assertion of their values, intoxicated and vulgar. Her cards are naïve, his deceitful.