I’m a little lost on what to do as I crunch across the car park. I have more knowledge than I did this morning – of the man I was with nights ago – but I have no idea how I might track him down. I can picture his face, the rash of dark black stubble peppering his cheeks and chin, plus the matching glossy dark hair which was that perfect length of smart but not quite shaggy. He had thick eyebrows but clearly waxed or did something similar to keep them tidy. His eyes were dark brown, a little set back, with that smouldering stare that makes a person feel as if they’re the only one who matters.

In my mind, he was one of those handsome young guys who create a start-up company and make millions right away. Either that, or an aspiring actor. He was handsome, funny and, better than all that, he actually wanted to talk to me.

I’m most of the way back to the car when I spot a young man struggling to do up a pair of cufflinks as he hurries in the opposite direction. He’s wearing the same black trousers and maroon staff waistcoat as the other men at the hotel. We’re almost past each other when our eyes lock and there’s a moment of recognition. He’s someone I’ve met before and I can see that he knows me, too. He has freckles and short red hair but is otherwise unremarkable.

I reach out a hand towards him and say hello.

He stops and turns until we’re facing each other.

‘I know you, don’t I…?’ I say.

His gaze darts away towards the hotel as he mutters a brisk, ‘Don’t think so.’

He takes half a step but I reach out and catch his arm. I don’t grip tight, just enough to stop him. His name badge reads ‘Gavin’.

‘I was here on Monday night,’ I say. ‘I was in the bar. You were here, too.’

He shrugs. ‘I work here.’

‘Right… but you do recognise me, don’t you?’

A smirk drifts momentarily across Gavin’s lips before he conceals it by scratching his nose. ‘I served you drinks,’ he says. ‘I’m running late. Sorry. I’ve got to go.’

I stop him once more. ‘Sorry, I’m not a nutter… I mean, I know a nutter would say that, but I’m honestly not. I’m trying to remember someone I was with on Monday. We were both in the bar together. Can you help me?’

‘Who?’

‘His name was Stephen. He had dark hair, stubble, about six foot and a bit.’

Gavin nods dismissively but I’ve dealt with young people who don’t tell the entire truth way too often to miss the nose scratch.

‘I’ve gotta go,’ he says.

‘Please. It’s really important. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.’

He bounces from one foot to the other; me on one side, the hotel on the other. ‘Ah, forget it,’ he says, angling towards me. ‘I’m late anyway. Another ten minutes won’t matter.’

Gavin digs into an inside pocket and pulls out a pre-made roll-up with a lighter. ‘You smoke?’ he asks.

‘No.’

He doesn’t add anything as he sticks the cigarette in his mouth and lights it before nodding towards a hedge. ‘I’m going to have to hide behind there,’ he says. ‘I’m on a second warning for smoking on company property. You coming?’

I follow him past my car and around a corner until we’re tucked into a hidden alcove where one hedge meets another. The area must be permanently in shadow because the ground is damp. There’s also a telltale collection of cigarette ends dumped in the mud.

‘What do you wanna know?’ Gavin asks.

‘I suppose what you remember.’

‘About you?’

‘I guess.’

He inhales from the cigarette and puffs out a plume that spirals high over the hedge. ‘You were in by yourself,’ he says. ‘I was on night shift in the bar and Jimbo had called in sick so I was by myself. At first I figured you were one of those career types who spend the evening getting steadily plastered. Anyway, you were a drink or two in when this bloke sidled up and sat next to you.’

‘Stephen?’

‘I guess so. You were getting on like a house on fire. Went off to the window for dinner, then came back to the bar. You were so pissed. I served you three wines and you were gone. I thought you must have spent the afternoon on the lash.’

‘I hadn’t had anything to drink before I got to the hotel.’

‘Well you were pretty much off your head – and I only served you three glasses.’

He clearly doesn’t believe me and gives a suit yourself shrug. I’d bet he sees this type of thing regularly: people in suits and business wear away from home and the office getting lashed on expenses.

‘Alcohol hits me hard,’ I reply.

It’s not exactly a lie – but it normally takes more than three glasses of wine to get me going. I don’t want to interrupt his flow by arguing over how much I drank. He seems clear enough I only had three.

He snorts. ‘You’re not wrong on that.’

‘What else happened after we came back to the bar after eating?’

That smirk returns for another brief appearance before he catches himself. ‘Not much.’

‘But something did…?’

Gavin is smoking quickly and has almost got through his rollie. He switches it from his right hand to his left, gulping down the smoke and breathing it out again.

‘You went to the toilet,’ he says.

I have no memory of that but I tell him I remember anyway.

‘I had a chat with your bloke,’ Gavin adds.

‘What about?’

Another puff and the cigarette has gone. He drops it to the ground and mashes it in with the others. ‘Well, no offence, but I asked him what the deal was. He was, like, twenty-odd. Some gym guy. A model type. And you… well…’

He tails off but the point is savagely clear.

‘You can say it,’ I reply.

‘Right, well, I ask him why some fit young guy would be chatting up an older woman. I thought he might have a type, y’know? Like some dudes are into black chicks, or Indian girls. Some blokes like ’em young, or whatever. I asked if he went for the MILFy-types.’

‘I’m a MILFy-type?’

He shrugs. ‘Not my type, but, y’know, some guys are up for anything. I have a mate who’s into furries. You know what that is?’

‘I honestly don’t want to know.’

Gavin bats a hand. ‘Anyway, I asked him what the deal was and he smiled and said, “What do you think?”.’

I stare at him, confused. ‘I don’t get it.’

Gavin sighs and then rubs his thumb across his forefinger and middle finger. The universal sign for money. Like some dodgy market trader trying to get something cash-in-hand.

‘I still don’t understand.’

Gavin steps around me and moves towards the car park. ‘I dunno what to tell you. That’s what he told me.’

It takes a second for the penny to drop. ‘He told you he was talking to me for money?’

Gavin rocks back and laughs. ‘Aye, talking for money. That’s a new one. I thought you might be some rich divorcee who got a big settlement. Flashing the cash and gash. All that.’

He’s already another step away when I tell him I don’t have any money.

He looks back over his shoulder and laughs. ‘Whatever. I’ve gotta get to work. Have a good day, an’ that.’