She knew the road; she passed it quite frequently on the way to Dee's. In fact they had stopped off for a coffee at one of the many trendy little cafés, nestling incongruously amid the fish and chip shop, Halal butchers and an Indian-run corner shop, that had sprung up over the past few months. She pulled up outside the shop, got out of the car and walked up to the door sandwiched between the old-fashioned hardware store and a garishly decorated craft shop. She peered at the row of names, and before she lost her nerve pressed the button alongside his name scrawled on a slip of paper, shoved haphazardly into the small plastic slot.

She couldn't tell by the expression on his face whether he was pleased or horrified. He certainly didn't look dressed to go out for the evening, unless grungy was de rigueur after all. He hastily pushed his shirt back into his trousers and swept his hand through his hair.

"Louise."

"Hi, I just happened to be in the neighbourhood." She paused, taking time to look at him with a critical eye, "actually that's a lie, I've come to see why you stood me up."

"Look come in." Harry shuffled to one side in the narrow hallway, waving one arm like a traffic cop on steroids.

He led the way up a flight of dingy stairs, into his flat. She was pleasantly surprised to find it neat and tidy and for the most part, clean. A few dirty dishes littered a coffee table in front of small, comfortable sofas.

"This is nice."

"Yes, it does for me. Coffee?"

"Oh, yes, ta." Louise plonked herself into one of the sofas. It was as comfortable as it looked.

He disappeared into the small kitchen. She listened to the noise of him filling the kettle.

"I didn't stand you up really, you know." There was a pause. She didn't respond. "I can explain." His voice was now quieter, did she sense a plea in his tone?

"Go on then." Her voice was firm and authoritative, even though she felt a mild twinge of guilt as she thought of Justin.

He stood in the doorway, "I bumped into my ex-wife outside the supermarket, and she just happened to mention that she would be going to the party too, an awful coincidence that I felt I couldn't deal with at the moment."

"I thought you were on good terms with her."

"Yes, sort of, but it's still rather painful. I could have handled it, but the person hosting the party is an ex-girlfriend of mine. It appears that the two of them discovered each other at some woman's group and have become pals. You can imagine the scenario. I do feel a bit guilty about it, because the ex-girlfriend is going out with my best mate now, the party is to celebrate him moving in with her."

"Have you told him you're not going?"

He moved back into the kitchen and came out some moments later carrying two mugs. He sat on the identical sofa on the other side of the coffee table.

"No. I thought I'd make up some excuse tomorrow. He probably won't notice, they've got loads of people going." He sipped at his cup of coffee, pulling his lips away quickly as he realised it was still far too hot to drink.

"Shame."

"Yes, but he'll understand. I can always say something came up." He grinned at her, inanely.

She silently reached for her coffee.

"Anyway," he said, "how did you know where I live? This is serious stuff. If you know, then the taxman must know, the butcher, the baker and even that dumb blonde I met last week. OK, OK, drop the dumb blonde. I did."

He wondered why he always tended to babble when he was nervous.

She scrutinised him carefully. "Why do men think blondes are dumb?"