‘What isn’t? Meeting people? Eating food?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ He shakes his head irritably.
‘It’s not far, Miles. I mean, it’s not the North Pole—’
‘Where is it then?’
‘I told you. Kent or Surrey, somewhere like that …’
He winces, sucking in air through his teeth as if she’s suggested a fun trip to a stinking landfill site. ‘Tomorrow?’ he asks.
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ve kind of got stuff on.’
‘Like what?’
His mouth twists. ‘I was going to do some cleaning—’
‘Cleaning? Miles, you never clean! What were you planning to do exactly?’ This is true. His cleaning lady, Petra, comes in once a week, gliding through the flat with incredible efficiency. Although she’s lovely, Esther never knows what to do with herself while she’s there. Sit around while she mops and hoovers and flicks her feather duster over Salvador, the taxidermied bat? Offer to help or hang around chatting, getting in the way? It’s easier all round to go to a café and hide there, dawdling over coffee after coffee until it’s safe to go home.
‘I thought I’d do something about the tile grout,’ he mutters.
‘What?’ Esther splutters.
‘In the bathroom, between the tiles where the black bits are …’
‘You’renotplanning to spend Sunday scrubbing the tile grout,’ Esther retorts.
‘I might!’ he says defensively.
She pouts. ‘You never do anything for me.’
‘That’ssonot fair!’
‘Itisfair,’ she snaps, aware of how childish she sounds. As they fall into a grim silence Esther wonders what the driver’s making of this – if he hears couples rowing all the time or if he’s even listening. ‘I’ve just spent three hours in that club with your friends,’ she adds.
‘Didn’t you like it?’ He looks hurt, as if he personally owns the place.
‘It was all right.’A load of middle-aged sweaty dancing and Kevin with his cheesy mouth? Yeah, I loved it.
‘I thought it was great.’ His nostrils flare. ‘Sorry you’ve had a shit night …’
‘It wasn’t shit. I just—’
‘Oh, babe,’ he cuts in, slipping an arm around her narrow shoulders. ‘We’ll do what you want next time.’
‘Next time we go out, you mean?’
‘Yeah.’
She checks his expression. ‘Okay. So come toLauren’s tomorrow …’
‘Ugh, God, do I have to?’ he groans.
‘Yes, you do,’ she says firmly. He sighs and takes hold of her hand as they pass a row of crumbly shops, their signs faded and peeling. The streets are quieter now, and fine rain has started to fall.
‘What’s she like?’ he asks.
