ONE DAY(110)

‘Oh, fantastic. The divorce goes through in September, just before our anniversary. Almost two whole years of wedded bliss.’

‘Have you spoken to her much?’

‘Not if I can help it. I mean we’ve stopped screaming abuse and throwing things, now it’s just yes, no, hello, goodbye. Which is more or less all we said when we were married anyway. Did you hear, they’ve moved in with Callum now? Into his ridiculous mansion in Muswell Hill where we used to go to dinner parties—’

‘Yes, I heard.’

He looked at her sharply. ‘Who from? Callum?’

‘Of course not! Just, you know – people.’

‘People feeling sorry for me.’

‘Not sorry, just . . . concerned.’ He wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘It’s not a bad thing, Dex, people caring about you. Have you spoken to Callum?’

‘No. He’s tried. Keeps leaving messages, like nothing’s happened. “Alright mate! Give us a call.” He thinks we should go out for a beer, and “talk things through”. Maybe I should go. Technically he still owes me three weeks’ wages.’

‘Are you working yet?’

‘Not as such. We’re renting out that bloody house in Richmond, and the flat, so I’m living off that.’ He drank the dregs of his coffee and stared into the canal. ‘I don’t know, Em. Eighteen months ago I had a family, a career – not much of a career, but I had opportunities, I still got offers. People carrier, nice little house in Surrey—’

‘Which you hated.’

‘I didn’t hate it.’

‘You hated the people carrier.’

‘Well, yes, I did hate that, but it was mine. And now all of a sudden I’m living in a bedsit in Kilburn with my half of the wedding list and I have . . . nothing. Just me and a shitload of Le Creuset. My life is effectively over.’

‘You know what I think you should do?’

‘What?’

‘Maybe . . .’ She took a deep breath, and held the fingers of his hand. ‘Maybe you should beg Callum for your job back.’ He glared and jerked his hand away. ‘Joking! I’m joking!’ she said and started to laugh.

‘Well I’m glad you find the carnage of my marriage funny, Em.’

‘I don’t find it funny, I just think self-pity’s probably not the answer.’

‘It’s not self-pity, it’s the facts.’

‘“My life is effectively over”?’

‘I just mean. I don’t know. Just . . .’ He looked into the canal and gave a theatrical sigh. ‘When I was younger everything seemed possible. Now nothing does.’

Emma, for whom the opposite was now true, simply said. ‘It’s not as bad as all that.’

‘So there’s a bright side, is there? To your wife running off with your best mate—’

‘And he wasn’t your “best mate”, you hadn’t spoken in years, that’s just, I’m just saying . . . Okay, well for a start it’s not a bedsit in Kilburn, it’s a perfectly good two-bedroom flat in West Hampstead. I’d have killed to have a flat like that. And you’re only there until you get your old flat back.’

‘But I’m thirty-seven in two weeks! I’m practically middle-aged!’

‘Thirty-seven is still mid-thirties! Just about. And no, you don’t have a job at this exact moment, but you’re not exactly living on benefits. You’ve an income from rent, which is unbelievably lucky if you ask me. And lots of people change track late in life. It’s fine to be miserable for a while, but you weren’t that happy when you were married, Dex. I know, I had to listen to it all the time. “We never talk, we never have fun, we never go out . . .” I know it’s tough, but at some point you might be able to think of this as a new start! A new beginning. There are loads of things you could do, you just have to make a decision . . .’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know – the media? You could try for some presenting jobs again?’ Dexter groaned. ‘Okay, something behind the scenes? Producer or director or something.’ Dexter winced. ‘Or, or photography! You used to talk about photography all the time. Or food, you could, I don’t know, do something with food. And if none of that works, you’ve always got that low two-two in Anthropology to fall back on.’ She patted the back of his hand for emphasis: ‘People will always need anthropologists.’ He smiled, then remembered he shouldn’t be smiling. ‘You’re a healthy, capable, financially stable moderately attractive father in your mid-to-late-thirties. You’re . . . alright, Dex. You just need to get your confidence back, that’s all.’

He sighed and looked out at the canal. ‘So was that your pep-talk then?’

‘That was it. What did you think?’

‘I still want to jump in the canal.’

‘Maybe we should move on then.’ She laid money on the table. ‘My flat’s about twenty minutes away in that direction. We can walk, or get a taxi . . .’ She went to stand, but Dexter didn’t move.

‘The worst of it is I really miss Jasmine.’ Emma sat again. ‘I mean it’s sending me insane and it’s not even like I was a good dad or anything.’