“Shall I make apple sauce, Fiona,” said Charles, poking his head around the kitchen door.

“No, thank you,” his wife replied stiffly. “Not with pasta.”

“Spiced apple roulade?” “It’s still only pasta, Charles. Don’t you think you should get the drinks ready?” There was a knock at the door. Their supper guests.

“Nigel. Melanie. Lovely to see you. What can I get you to drink?” Nigel looked at the row of bottles on the table. “Don’t mean to be fussy, Charles, but is there anything other than apple juice?” he asked. “It’s just a bit breakfasty for me, but if it’s any trouble . . .”

“Heavens no. Apples! Who needs ’em? Incidentally, have you met our computer?” “Er, no,” said Melanie. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

“Over here. It’s quiet now, of course. Switched off to have a bit of a nap before the meal. It’s an Apple Mac Mini.”

“Are we all supposed to be whispering?” asked Melanie.

“No, of course not. Well, perhaps a bit. I just don’t want to wake it, you see. And it’s OK, you don’t have to say anything, I quite understand. It’s like being a rock star: you’ve either got it or you haven’t. I can deal with jealousy.”

Nigel looked puzzled. “Are we still talking about the computer?” “Of course. But, look, if you don’t mention it, neither will I. Deal? Let’s just say I’m blessed among men. It’ll just sit at the head of the table during dinner and we’ll ignore it.”

“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” said Nigel. “Make that a large one.” Melanie asked for the same.

They both greeted Fiona as she joined them.

“Lovely computer,” said Nigel.

“Yes, thank you. Charles is very happy. He’s good with it, too. Mind you, people stared when he pushed it in the pram around the park. Envy. Of course, I would have preferred a spaniel, they’re so much better in parks. But still, there it is.” She sighed.

Melanie and Nigel looked uncomfortably at each other.

“Well, at least the Apple won’t widdle everywhere,” said Melanie encouragingly, kicking her husband in the shins for support. “Will it, Nigel?” They sat down to dinner, steaming plates of pasta in a cheese sauce.

“There’s no apple sauce, I’m afraid,” Charles apologised.

Fiona stared at him and, through clenched teeth, said: “Do you think it might be possible not to mention the Apple this evening? We all know you have a new computer.”

Charles raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, sorry. Not another word.”

“Anyway, glad your cold’s better, Charles,” said Nigel.

“Yes. An apple a day keeps the . . .”

“Charles!” yelled Fiona.

“Bit over the top, isn’t he?” whispered Nigel to his wife. “It’s only a bloody computer.”

“Shhh, you’ll upset it,” said Melanie sharply, looking anxiously at the blank screen at the end of the table. “And you know, it hasn’t even touched its pasta.”