‘Yes,’ he lies.
‘Right. Romance. Certainly,’ I say. I go to the cupboard and take out two candles. Then go to the fridge and return with a bottle of wine. I light the candles as he shakes his head at me.
‘Now can we have sex?’ I say.
‘Lalla, that’s ridiculous. I want something real.’
‘Believe me, Stephen, being real is on my to-do list, and I will get to it when I can.’
‘I don’t want to be someone’s to-do list. I want to be someone’s priority.’
‘I can make you my priority, darling. Just give me the word.’ I throw a lighted candle at his head. Stephen flinches.
‘I want someone to love me.’
‘Good God, Stephen, you sound like the heroine of a Mills & Boon romance.’
‘We see things differently. We’ve gone as far as we can go,’ he says.
‘Then let’s agree a way forward,’ I say. ‘You get made partner, borrow some of Mummy’s money, we buy the Hampstead house, and if you give me the house and half your salary, ad infinitum, I’ll consider the balance paid and let you go.’
‘That’s not possible, I’m afraid,’ says Stephen, and he looks at the floor, which usually means he’s done something silly.
‘Why not?’ I say, stepping towards him and folding my arms.
‘I’ve left the bank,’ he says, stepping backwards.
‘What? When?’ I shout.
‘Today,’ he whimpers back.
‘That’s not possible,’ I insist. ‘You were about to be made partner.’
‘What are you talking about?’ he says, edging for the door as I pick up the vegetable knife.
‘Josh Krill recommended you for partner,’ I say, and point the knife at him.
‘I don’t know where you heard that, but he didn’t, Lalla. He actually did the opposite and gave me the worst reference I’ve ever seen. They let me read it, and I thought, enough is enough.’
‘He did what?’
He stares at me and suddenly starts to cry, which makes it hard to stab him. Even a flesh wound would feel a little vicious.
‘OK, I’ll stop threatening you, but what have you done?’ I say.
‘Resigned,’ he said.
‘You cheating bastard!’ I shout. Stephen thinks I’m talking about him and cowers.
‘I don’t want to do this any more,’ he says, like the fatigued victim of a melodrama.
‘You need to go and beg for your job back, right away,’ I say, approaching him.
‘I don’t want that job. I want a different life, Lalla. My mum says she’ll support me.’
‘Your mother? Is that wise, Stephen? You really should be weaned by now.’
‘It’s a short-term thing, while I re-think. I might have a go at craft beer brewing.’
