‘It’s part of the road map to happiness and I’m afraid you can’t just buy the T-shirt and a ticket for the overnight bus. I wonder if quite a few of the things on this list are merely a display of your “awesomeness”.’ His eyebrows hitch at an accusation he wasn’t expecting. ‘You don’t need a supercar in London. Do you even drive? I can understand you’d want to eat at restaurants like Noma, because let’s be honest who wouldn’t want to scoff essence of venison hoof with twice frozen pickled sky. But to go all the way to Denmark just to be seen there? What if Danish people don’t watch subtitled episodes ofHot Middle-aged Private Investigator Solves the Problems of Middle England? Who is going to ask for an inspirational selfie that night?’
Vince remains still, like he’s been twice frozen himself as I go down the list, ticking off the inconsistencies in red pen. ‘As “solving the Israel–Palestine conflict”, comes below “a decent set of toenail clippers”, I can’t think you are serious about that one …’
‘I do have very stubborn toenails. Anyone who has ever seen them would verify that.’ He slips off his shoe and I hold my hand up to stop him taking his socks off.
‘I believe you do genuinely desire a better choice of bagels in your local minimarket, which let’s be honest is probably Waitrose …’
‘I once went to Aldi. Can we add Philly to the bagels? I like mine with a whole heap of it. In fact, let’s add a bagel store to the list, imported from New York on theQM2. Oh, hell no, that’ll make the climate crisis worse and there’s no point in trying to solve it as it’s only number fifty-five on my list behind paddle-boarding and keeping a clown fish called Nemo in my toilet bowl.’ He throws down the shoe. ‘Who are you to tell me what I should have on my bucket list? And just for the record, I am not middle-aged. I’m not even fifty.’ His speech echoes around the room and there’s a stand-off as we stare at each other.
Then his eye twitches the smallest bit and I choose to read surrender into it. ‘You need to write this list again.’
He scratches his decent head of hair, then he lets out a long breath and grins. ‘That was the whole point of the exercise, wasn’t it? To get the shallow, bullshit ideas out of the way. But did I have to list a hundred and one of the goddamn things first?’
I smile at his perceptiveness, pulling a new sheet of A4 out of my file.
‘Call it a week-long mind dump. I actually only want a list of five. You can write them on here or into the notes on your phone. I need you to make them count and if you mention your toenails again …’
‘OK then, how about you write your “authentic” list of five while I have another go at mine and we share?’ His tone is curt, but his face looks pinched. Rather than a challenge to my authority I think it’s a plea to share the pain.
I’m torn, clamping my lips tight. ‘I’m not the client …’
‘But I am, and you said our meetings would be tailored to my needs. This is what I need.’
He leaps up and returns almost immediately with fresh sheets of A4. ‘Let’s put a clock on it shall we? Say five minutes? And don’t be afraid to think out of the box!’ It’s a rather good impression of me, but then it would be, wouldn’t it– he’s won awards for transforming into different humans.
He sets the alarm on his phone. I chew on my biro, and part of it disintegrates into my mouth, while he writes with a Cartier pen.
After a few minutes his phone pings. He hands me his list and I read it out:
1. Go home
2. Get myself a fitter butt
3. Hire a cleaner who can match socks
4. Play with Pink Floyd, or failing that, sing in tune toDark Side of the Moon
5. Stay forty-nine forever
‘Shall we discuss this …?’
‘Nope. Give me yours.’
I hand him my list. He reads it out:
1. An end to scumbags pushing drugs to the poor
2. Good luck to follow me everywhere I go
3. Unicorns back from extinction
4. Dog owners jailed if they don’t pick up their mess
5. To be called awesome every day
‘What did you scribble out?’ he asks, pointing to my list.
‘What do you mean?’
