‘He’s excused himself to have his mantrum in private,’ Heather crows. ‘And, oh, look, he’s got a bit of a bald patch,’ she says, narrowing her eyes.
‘You look like you’re enjoying that a little too much.’
‘There are only so many times you can shout the same insults in your head when you’re being belittled and undermined. Variation is a good thing. Besides, he’s made my point exactly. He can’t even stand to see me having a good time.’
‘You’re having a good time?’
‘Well, it beats being here on my own.’
‘Be still my beating heart,’ I reply deadpan. ‘Why, I haven’t been complimented like that since I was called in front of the care home manager for—’ I halt immediately. This is not a happy little anecdote and or something I regularly upcast. In fact, anything that pertains to my life from before the age of eighteen is not something I ever speak about. Or think about, if I can help it.
‘Go on.’ Her hand covers mine, and there’s a gentleness to her voice that I find I can’t take.
I shake my head and reach for my glass, unsubtly signalling the switch in conversation.
‘What are you willing to bet that I’m wrong?’ These are just rote words as I fight the instinct to allow my mind to return to that time, my fingers so tight on the stem of my glass I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see it shatter.
‘I don’t need to bet anything. I know you’re wrong.’
‘And I know that, before the end of today, Haydn will declare his undying want of you, probably by lecturing you on your choice of date because it’s killing him that you’re not here with him.’
‘That’snotgoing to happen.’
‘So confident. Yet so resistant to a little wager.’
‘I don’t get gambling,’ she says with a shrug. ‘I don’t understand how anyone can think of it as a recreational activity.’
I find myself chuckling. ‘I’m not trying to seduce you into a den of vice. Just proving my point.’
‘Which is?’
‘That you’re not as confident in your assertion as you make out.’
‘Ten pounds.’ Her answer is immediate. I thought she’d call me out for my goading.
Here, little fishy. Bite a little more.
‘Not so confident now, eh?’ I say, leaning back in my chair
‘Ten is enough,’ she protests.
‘Ten is easy to lose. Ten says you don’t care either way.’
‘I never like to lose,’ she replies mulishly.
‘So, stump up. It’s got to be something you’d hate to lose. Something that pushes you out of your comfort zone. Something that says, I’m so supremely confident, I know I won’t lose.’
‘Like what? A hundred?’
‘Like those big knickers of yours.’
I begin to laugh when her expression morphs from dismay to calculation.
‘I’ll go one better than that, finish what you began to say earlier, from when you were a little boy, and they’re yours.’
My laughing halts immediate. ‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
