Under the circumstances, and probably only because she likes him so much, Gwen refrains from commenting on or making a fuss about that particular irony. He knows, she knows, and—as well as she knows him, which she's willing to allow is not as intimately as all that, the smart money says he'd still trade it for home.

Not everyone would, but she thinks: Alfie would. And she can understand it, too.

“Just checking,” she says, poking her fish with her fork, aiming her small and strange smile down at the food instead of up at him, in case he gets any wild ideas about being cared for or thought about by our lady of spoiled indifference.

After a moment, “So, you've done a bunch of crimes, right.” She's pretty sure she witnessed like seven of them, when everyone was remembering things—

Smooth segue. This has the awkwardness of an attempted lead-in.