‘Work. Your flat. How have things been?’
Of course. Ofcoursehe did not meantell me about Dominic. He doesn’t even know about him, after all.
I wonder how many people Jed’s slept with since we split up. Quite a few, I’m sure. He’s Jed. I realise that I really, really do not mind the thought of him with someone else. I think Ishould, though, if we’re going to get back together. Shouldn’t youreallycare about the thought of your husband being with someone else? I mean, the idea ofDominicbeing with someone else right now causes me almost physical pain and he is infinitely far from being my husband.
‘Work’s great.’ I begin to tell him all about my new job. There’s a lot to say, and I allow myself to go through it in reasonable detail, rather than doing my usual thing of very quickly saying,Enough about me, you go. I have always done that with Jed, because his attention span is short.
I take a break so that we can order, and then I continue.
Jed does actually listen at first but then definitely begins to get quite bored, around the time that our starters arrive.
‘They sound hilarious,’ he cuts in before the end of an anecdote about my GCSE History class, a trip to the British Museum and a skirt-caught-in-my-tights situation (which in my opinionisgenuinely slapstick funny). ‘Teenagers, eh.’
‘Yep. Teenagers. So. How’s your work?’ I know a lot about his job, his career, his colleagues, because he always told me about them in the evenings. I’d love to catch up on his news, actually. It’s kind of odd knowing someone so well, and caring about them, even if the zing is gone and you bicker sometimes, and then just not know any more what’s going on in their daily lives. Like starting a film or a book and not getting to the end.
He waves a hand. ‘The usual.’ Then he gives me a slow smile and does a thing with his mouth that I used to like. Now, I’m just wondering why he’s doing it. It’s weird, frankly. ‘But let’s talk aboutus.’
‘Okay.’ I’m not sure whether I really want to, though. I feel as though if I’m going to be talking about us I should bereadyfor it, and it turns out that I am not ready.
Jed pushes our breadbasket out of the way and reaches across to take both my hands.
‘Oh,’ I squeak. This seems a little forward. We are not currently in a relationship and you don’t just grab people’s hands right, left and centre when you’re having dinner with them.
‘I miss you.’ Jed looks deep into my eyes. ‘I know you miss me.’
I blink. I’m not sure… I mean, Ididmiss him, at first. Now, though…
I say nothing.
‘I made a terrible mistake.’ He squeezes my hands.
I still say nothing. He carries on holding my unresponsive hands.
‘I would like you to carry my babies.’ He strokes the backs of my hands with his thumbs.
I find myself staring at where he’s doing the stroking, thinking that it just feels a bit weird. You don’t juststrokepeople for no good reason.
‘Soooo.’ He does his mouth thing again, while I stare at him, my mind basically blown. It feels like my brain has been replaced with scrunched-up tissue. I can’t think at all.
‘When are you going to move back to Sydney?’ he asks.
I stare at him and then say, ‘Erm, I have a life here.’
‘Your life has been in Sydney for years.’
‘Yes, but I grew uphereand I have my mum and my brothers and a lot of friends.’
‘You have friends in Sydney. And also, no-one should move to where their parents are. Given that they die first.’ He doesn’t even twitch at the insensitivity of his comment in the context of the recent loss of my dad. ‘All our friends and my family miss you.’
‘Why don’t you move here?’ I suggest.
‘Ha.’
I frown. ‘I’m serious.’
‘What? But… our whole lives are in Sydney.’ He says it like there’s no arguing with his point, like it’s entirelyright. And, obviously, to be fair,hiswhole lifeisin Sydney. But that is because I gave up my whole life to join him there. Because I was in love (or so I thought, anyway).
‘That’s because I made a huge sacrifice and joined you there,’ I point out.
