Perfectly Ordinary People(48)

‘Oh,’ Dan said again, deftly chopsticking some bok choy to his lips.

‘Don’t pull a face,’ I said. His brow had furrowed quite noticeably. ‘It’s just a question. It’s not a big deal or anything.’

‘Yeah, but it’s a trick question,’ Dan said, once he’d finished chewing. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’ I asked, starting to frown myself. ‘How so?’

‘Well, I have to say no, don’t I?’

‘Not at all. You can say, “Yes, I see quite enough of your ugly mug, thank you very much,”’ I offered, trying to reinject some humour into the conversation.

‘OK. Yes, I see quite enough of your ugly mug, thank you very much,’ Dan repeated.

‘Oh!’ I said, crestfallen.

‘You see?’ Dan said. ‘I can’t say that. And that’s kind of my point. It’s a trick question. Because I can’t say yes but I can’t say no either, because then we’d be on to whose fault it is that we see so little of each other, and it’s obviously my fault because I work all the time and you don’t. Only I can’t do anything about that because I’m trying to build a successful business.’

‘Hey,’ I said gently, reaching across the table for his hand. ‘I’m not trying to trick you. Not at all.’

‘OK then,’ Dan said, with a sigh. ‘But I’m guessing that if you’re asking the question, it’s because you think we don’t see enough of each other.’

‘I have more time now, that’s all. And I know . . . and understand . . . that you haven’t. But I seem to be seeing more of Gina than I do of you lately.’

‘So?’ Dan asked, sounding vaguely aggressive.

‘Will you please just chill?’ I asked.

‘I hate that word,’ Dan said.

‘OK. Then will you please relax?’

‘I am relaxed.’

‘I don’t know what you are, Dan, but I can tell you that relaxed does not describe it particularly well.’

‘OK, then, go for it,’ Dan said.

‘Go for what?’

At that moment, the waitress swung by our table to ask if everything was all right. We both turned fake smiles on her and insisted everything was lovely.

Once she’d gone, Dan nodded at me, raising his chin as a rather unpleasant way of indicating that I should continue.

‘God, Dan,’ I said. ‘You’re being so weird about this.’

‘Maybe, but about what?’ Dan said, laying down his chopsticks. ‘Because I’m still in the dark here.’

‘Just forget it,’ I said.

‘If I knew what I needed to forget, then I might,’ Dan said. ‘But I’m still waiting for you to spill the beans.’

‘Jesus! I was merely going to suggest that if, perhaps, just maybe, we lived together, then I’d see you even when you’re working your tits off. Because we’d end up in the same bed every night.’

‘Nicely done,’ Dan said.

‘What was?’ I asked. ‘Sorry, but what was nicely done?’

‘The reproach. For “working my tits off”.’ He made angry little quotes with his fingers as he repeated my words. ‘You slipped that in quite deftly.’

‘There was no reproach in that phrase, Dan,’ I said. ‘None. There was merely an offer to live with you because—’

‘Yeah, well, sorry, but been there, done that,’ Dan said, interrupting me. Which was a shame because I’d been about to end my phrase with, ‘I love you’. And of course, once he’d said, ‘Been there, done that,’ I no longer wanted to tell him that at all.

‘Been there, done what?’ I asked.

‘Um, tried to live with someone who’s never happy because I’m always out “working my tits off”,’ Dan said, making the quotes again. ‘And trying to live with someone who’s never happy because when I do get home after “working my tits off”, I’m too shattered to be any fun to live with anyway.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Fine. Well, that’s clear, at least.’ I turned to look out at the street in an effort to calm my racing pulse. A woman was busy clipping a plastic cover on her daughter’s pushchair and the rain looked harder than before. Our silence lasted about a minute and when I turned back, Dan was staring right at me.

‘You see?’ he said. ‘Trick question.’

And it was unreasonable of me, no doubt, but, as my mother would say, the anger was upon me. Something snapped. ‘Oh, fuck you, Dan,’ I said, standing, and pulling on my coat. ‘I don’t need this.’

‘You’re leaving?’ Dan asked, speaking through sour, mocking laughter. ‘You want us to live together, but we can’t even have a discussion anymore?’

‘Gimme a call the next time you’re not too busy,’ I said. I started to walk away, but then turned back. ‘Actually, no. Gimme a call next time you’re not “working your tits off”,’ I said, echoing his angry quote marks. ‘And when you’re not also in a thoroughly shitty mood like what you are today.’

And then I span dramatically on one heel and flounced out of the restaurant, leaving him to pay and wondering if he’d noticed my clunky and grammatically incorrect ‘like what you are’.