ONE DAY(48)

He smiled ruefully and nudged her knuckles with his. ‘That why you didn’t answer my phone-calls?’

‘Didn’t I? I don’t know, maybe.’ She raised the glass to her lips. ‘We’re here now. Let’s change the subject. How’s the stand-up career going?’

‘Oh, alright. I’ve got this improv gig which is real seat-of-the-pants stuff, really unpredictable. Sometimes I’m just not funny at all! But I suppose that’s the joy of improv, isn’t it?’ Emma wasn’t sure that this was true, but nodded just the same. ‘And I do this Tuesday night gig at Mr Chuckles in Kennington. It’s a bit more hard-edged, more topical. Like I do this kind of Bill Hicks thing about advertising? Like the stupid adverts on TV? . . .’

He slipped into his routine and Emma freeze-framed her smile. It would kill him to say it but in all the time she had known Ian he had caused her to laugh perhaps twice, and one of those was when he fell down the cellar stairs. He was a man with a great sense of humour while at the same time being in no way funny. Unlike Dexter: Dexter had no interest at all in jokes, probably thought that a sense of humour, like a political conscience, was a little embarrassing and un-cool, and yet with Dexter she laughed all the time, hysterically, sometimes, frankly, until she peed a little. On holiday in Greece, they had laughed for ten days straight, once they’d settled that little misunderstanding. Where was Dexter right now? she wondered.

‘Have you been watching him on telly then?’ said Ian.

Emma flinched, as if she’d been caught out. ‘Who?’

‘Your friend Dexter, on that stupid programme.’

‘Sometimes. You know, if it’s on.’

‘And how is he?’

‘Oh fine, the usual. Well, a bit nutty to be honest, a bit off the rails. His mother’s sick and, well, he’s not taking it very well.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Ian frowned with concern and tried to work out a way of changing the subject. Not callously; he just didn’t want a stranger’s illness to get in the way of his evening. ‘Do you speak a lot?’

‘Me and Dex? Most days. I don’t see him much though, with his TV commitments, and his girlfriends.’

‘Who’s he seeing now then?’

‘No idea. They’re like funfair goldfish; no point giving them names, they never last that long.’ She had used the line before and hoped that Ian might like it, but he was still frowning. ‘What’s that face?’

‘Just never liked him, I suppose.’

‘No, I remember.’

‘I tried.’

‘Well you mustn’t take it personally. He’s not that good with other men, he doesn’t see the point of them.’

‘As a matter of fact, I always thought—’

‘What?’

‘That he took you a bit for granted. That’s all.’

Me again! Just checking in. Bit drunk now actually. Bit sentimental. You’re a great thing, Emma Morley. Be nice to see you. Call when you get in. What else did I want to say? Nothing, except that you are a great, great thing. So. When you get in. Call me. Give me a call.

By the time the second brandies arrived there was no doubting that they were drunk. The whole restaurant seemed drunk, even the silver-haired pianist, clattering sloppily through ‘I Get a Kick Out of You’, his foot pumping the sustain pedal as if someone had cut his brake cable. Forced to raise her voice, Emma could hear it echoing in her head as she spoke with great passion and force about her new career.

‘It’s a big comprehensive in north London, teaching English and a bit of Drama. Nice school, really mixed, not one of those cushy suburban numbers where it’s all yes-miss no-miss. So the kids are a bit of a challenge, but that’s alright isn’t it? That’s what kids are meant to be. I say that now. They’ll probably eat me alive, little sods.’ She rolled the brandy round the glass in a way that she’d seen in films. ‘I’ve got this vision of me sitting on the edge of the desk, talking about how Shakespeare was the first rapper or something, and all these kids are just gazing at me with their mouths open just – hypnotised. I sort of imagine being carried aloft on inspired young shoulders. That’s how I’m going to get around the school, the car park, the canteen, everywhere I go I’m going to be on the shoulders of adoring kids. One of those carpe diem teachers.’

‘Sorry, what-teachers?’

‘Carpe diem.’

‘Carpe—?’

‘You know, seize the day!’

‘Is that what it means? I thought it meant seize the carpet!’

Emma gave a polite hiccough of mirth, which for Ian was like a starting pistol. ‘That’s where I went wrong! Wow, my school days would have been so different if I’d known! All those years, scrambling around on the floor . . .’

Enough of this. ‘Ian, don’t do that,’ she said sharply.

‘What?’

‘Slip into your act. You don’t have to, you know.’ He looked hurt, and she regretted her tone, leaning across the table to take his hand. ‘I just don’t think you have to be observing all the time, or riffing or quipping or punning. It’s not improv, Ian, it’s just, you know, talking and listening.’

‘Sorry, I—’