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Joanna’s palms are sweating. She can feel the twist in her bra strap and wonders if it shows through the expensive dress she borrowed from Lisa. She forces her face into what she hopes is an expression of sophisticated interest, sips her gin and tonic and looks again at Lucas.

She can’t believe how out of her league he is. His crisp white shirt sets off his dark hair and tan. As he drinks she catches a flash of a watch which she’s sure is a real Rolex. He moves like a big cat, confident and self assured. Joanna feels clumsy, like an imposter. She’s never been in a place like this. None of the drinks on the menu have prices beside them

“What do you do for work?” she asks, because he’s stopped talking and she can’t remember anything he’s said.

He shoots her a charmingly self conscious grin. She melts a bit, but worries that if she smiles back he’ll notice that her front teeth are crooked, so she presses her lips shut.

“I can’t talk about my work, I’m afraid. But tell me about you.”

Oh shit, thought Joanna. He’s in the FBI or something. I’m on a date with fucking James Bond. She wishes again for sticky floors and shot glasses, comfortable shoes and chairs that let you sit in them without feeling like you’re in a window display.

“I’m, uh, head of marketing at Aspire Media,” she invents wildly, shoving her University Admin Assistant lanyard to the bottom of her bag. Momentarily his eyes widen.

He’s impressed!

Joanna pushes the question of how she will manage this lie when they are married to the back of her mind.

“What does that involve?”

Joanna has no idea. She has no idea if there even is an Aspire Media.

“Would you excuse me? I need to, um…”

She walks to the ladies, half hoping he’s watching, half terrified that her dress is stuck up her bum.

In the bathroom she stares at her reflection. This is stupid, she decides. I’ll tell him I made that stuff up.

When she returns Lucas is at the bar. He’s left his wallet open on the table and she notices the glittering Rolex is lying on the floor near his chair.

She picks it up and sets it beside the wallet for him. The ID card is in his open wallet: Lucas Walsh, Deputy Manager, IKEA.

But then Lucas is rushing over, his catlike assurance gone, his face pink. He is sweating.

“I’m so sorry - I have to go. I’ve lost my dad’s watch - it must have come off on the bus -”

Then Lucas sees his watch and his ID on the table and his face glows flaming red. The FBI agent's mask slips and leaves an embarrassed young man in his place.

He begins to stammer, but she smiles at him for the first time, a full, bright, crooked smile and he smiles back - not a cool, sophisticated smile, but a wide, proper toothy grin and Joanna sees that his top teeth are crooked too.

“Shall we go for chips in the Masons and tell each other who we really are, then?”

Dave saw the expressions around him and immediately wanted to gather his words back up and swallow them.

‘You do what?’ Mike asked, like an interview room warrior for the FBI who’d just watched his suspect’s mask slip.

Saying it again was the opposite of what Dave wanted to do. He emptied two inches of his pint and looked around for an exit, or an ally.

Nobody spoke. Lauren even went so far as to leave the tall table they were gathered around and head to the bar, presumably in disgust. They weren’t going to let him off the hook. He was left with no option but to double down.

‘Surely we all do it, right?’

Mike shook his head and exhaled through his nose with all the self-righteousness of a man who plants a tree after every breath in order to maintain carbon positivity.

‘It’s a victimless crime.’

‘Ah,’ Mike gave a ‘gotcha’ smile. ‘But it is a crime.’

Dave made a mental note to try and shake Mike’s hand with unwashed urinal fingers at the first opportunity.

‘It’s not really though, is it? It’s not like I’ve murdered anyone.’

‘That’s not really…’

‘I know, I know,’ Dave had to interrupt. If he let Mike finish his condescension he might just end up pissing directly on him from where he stood. ‘I just think that swapping the occasional yellow sticker onto a new item doesn’t really do anything except save me a couple of quid on my microwave dinner.’

Silence.

‘Those things cost pennies to make, the shop are still making a profit.’

Nothing at all.

‘Are you honestly saying you’ve never done anything similar? Never eaten grapes on your way round the supermarket? Misweighed some penny sweets in Woolies?’

‘Woolworths went bankrupt,’ Mike spoke so quickly it was as though he’d been waiting for that exact example. ‘How does that make you feel?’

It made Dave feel like putting his thumbs into Mike’s sanctimonious eyes until they popped and leaked fluid down his smug bastard cheeks. Dave could see the others begin to fidget uncomfortably with the tension.

‘Anyway,’ he looked for an out. ‘Whose round is it?’

‘It’s mine,’ said Lauren, returning with a tray full of pints and wines. She set the drinks down and sidled round to stand beside Dave. She placed a shot glass in front of each of them.

‘You’re buying shots for the thief now?’ Mike asked indignantly.

‘Shut up, Mike,’ said Lauren. ‘Or do I need to remind everyone exactly what you did to make me divorce you?’

Mike retreated, first into himself with a grumble, then to the toilet with a shuffle.

‘I’ve got a couple of vouchers for the curry house next door from when I complained last week,’ Lauren spoke to Dave in a low voice. ‘You fancy losing this lot and heading over?’

‘How bad is it, if you had to complain?’

‘Dunno, I’ve never been before.’

‘But…’

Lauren smiled until Dave caught on.

He raised his shot, and the pair sealed their arrangement with tequila.