‘You know that’s not what I mean.’ He smiles rather indulgently, which just pisses me off, but the waiter appears suddenly, depositing our drinks on the table.
‘Ready to make-a da order?’ he asks, pulling out a pad from the pocket of his hunter green apron.
As I’ve barely looked at the menu, I order the Italian restaurant staple of lasagne—the quality of a lasagne can make or break a restaurant, as far as I’m concerned. James joins me in the carb zone with his order of spaghetti alle vongole.
‘Where were we?’ Clams. Yuck. I try to suppress my shiver of revulsion. ‘Are you okay over there?’
‘Fine.’ I swallow almost convulsively against my stomach’s revolt at the thought of ingesting molluscs, though manage not to run for the hills. Or bathroom. ‘We were talking about how we’re not suited.’
‘No, I think you’ll find you were trying to convince me.’
‘Look, you like me, and I like you, but you and me? We’re fundamentally different. It would never work.’
‘Different?’ he repeats, his eyes narrowed yet amused. ‘You mean generationally, of course.’
‘You’re hardly old,’ I mutter.
‘That sounds like something you might say to placate an elderly aunt.’
‘You mean the one who never got married but led a colourful life?’
‘I hope you’re not drawing comparisons. I’m not some aging starlet.’
‘Not yet, you’re not.’
‘Call a sedan chair,’ he drawls, reaching for his beer. ‘This old man has to make his way home.’
‘Very droll. How old are you, anyway?’ It’s just curiosity, that’s all. I’m not imagining it on a marriage certificate or anything.
He takes a mouthful from the bottle, pausing before he answers, the bottle hanging from between his long fingers. ‘I’m going to preface this with the adage, age is just a number. But I’m thirty-eight. And you’re almost twenty-three. November the nineteenth, I believe. And none of those numbers mean anything to me.’
‘How do you know when my birthday is?’
‘I may have had a look at your file while no one was paying attention. In Will’s office.’
‘You could’ve just asked.’
‘Where the fun in that? So I’m old but not too old. I don’t see how that leads to fundamental differences.’
‘We’re in different places in our lives. I’m just out of a breakup, and you’re talking about a relationship, aren’t you?’ Did that sound pleading? Hopeful? Fingers crossed, it sounded like none of those things.
‘I don’t see why we can’t try. Apart from the fact that I’m too, what? Old? Too posh? Too outside the Miranda-prescribed mould to consider seriously?’ He leans forward, his elbow pressed to the tabletop with his chin balanced on his fist. And those brilliant blue eyes positively sparkle with laughter. ‘Incidentally, what is the prescribed Miranda mould?’
‘I’m not boy mad,’ I protest.
‘Good, because it’s been a long time since I was anything but a man.’
‘We’re just not suited,’ I add, my cheeks burning, my response sort of flustered. ‘Why can’t we just leave it at that? You know,’ I add, my mind suddenly snagging on something a little more highbrow and a little more serious. ‘I recently read something that’s stuck with me. It said the greatest tragedy in life isn’t that we die, but that we cease to love. How sad is that? My parents have lived together for nearly thirty years, and I’m sure they started their relationship with nothing but thoughts of love and hope. Now, the only thing they’ll love is the thought of the soil that will eventually cover the other. How can love turn to that?’
‘Familiarity is the root of closest loves and most intense hatreds.’
‘So you’re saying love and hate are the opposite sides of the same coin?’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t buy that—it’s a massive contradiction.’
‘Your love for your ex hasn’t turned to hatred at his betrayal?’
‘It turned to apathy. I’m not sure there’s such a thing as love. That kind of love, I mean. It’s probably just chemistry. And sometimes chemistry experiments go wrong. What about you?’ I find myself asking like a masochist picking a scab. ‘Do you believe in love?’ What I really want to ask is has he ever been in love, but I’m not sure I’m that big of a masochist.
‘I do. I’ve seen it with my parents.’
