Sean had booked their favourite restaurant. Italian and musical, with waiters who had funny accents and made appalling jokes, which were largely forgiven due to their funny accents. Which were put on, of course. They always are, aren’t they?

This was the restaurant in which Claire made Sean propose, a place of fond and romantic memories, and moderately good food. Softly lit and pastel paintings, enormous pepper grinders and synthetic Parmesan – just fake enough to feel real. Claire looked deeply into her husband’s eyes, corneas flashing with mischief and tenderness in the soft candlelight. Sean looked back, then down at the point where their hands were clamped together on the table, then around and about in frenetic fashion.

“Sean, calm down”
“Uh, I just have to go to the toilet…” Sean tried to rise, but found his hand held fast to the table by his determined spouse.
“Sean, look at me. It’s all fine. No-one’s trying to kill you.”
“you think not?” Sean asked, wildly.
“yes, -”
“Yes?? You think they are?”
“No, yes, I think not..”
“So they’re not?”
“No. Although I might, if you don’t…”
“I knew it.” Sean bemoaned.
“Sean, I’m joking” Claire said, patiently. “Look the starters are coming, settle down will you?” “right.”

Sean knew deep down that people probably weren’t trying to kill him. Probably. Well, not yet. He tried to get a grip. Started poking at his food with a fork. Asked Claire if she wanted to try it first.

“Sean! You think it’s poisoned don’t you.”
“No! I wouldn’t put you at risk like that…”
“But you would though, wouldn’t you.”
“No….” said Sean, affronted. “but would you like to try it?”
“For god’s sake Sean!” Claire reached out and took a substantial bite of his broschetta.
“Happy?”

Claire started coughing uncontrollably, and slumped to the floor. Waiters came running over, startled out of their accents.

“Is yer missus OK, mate?”
“Oh god.” whimpered Sean. Claire stopped coughing and rose to her feet.
“I’m joking, I’m fine.”
“It’s not funny….” Sean began
“It-sa not funny, laydee” said the waiter, composure regained. Claire swotted him away and stood over Sean, waving her knife about as he cowered in his chair.

“Sean, you need to sort it out. You made a mistake. You need to face up to it. And now I see what I mean to you. Your food taster. I’m going home, your highness.”

Once Claire had left, the staff eventually had to physically pry Sean’s fist from his mouth and lead him from the restaurant, in order to free up the table. In the corridor, left to his own devices, he looked to the roof and moaned and wept and ground his teeth.

Danny, had been keeping an eye on Sean all evening, in the hope of entertainment. Right now he had slipped into a dark corner, unnoticed, was observing Sean with interest.

Danny wondered briefly whether it would be more humane to help his brother home, rather than use him as a substitute for the video screen. ‘But why interfere in the natural order of things?’ he thought, as Sean staggered off.