Game

‘Nuclear war,’ I decide, swallowing my croissant crumb and returning the rest to the plate. ‘I think that’d be worse than alien invasion, somehow. The knowledge that we’d done it to ourselves.’

‘Shut up.’ He looks quite rattled, not the laid-back Lloyd I’m used to. ‘Sorry. Sorry, didn’t mean to snap at you. But just stop it, OK? Just for once, take something seriously.’

‘What do you mean, just for once? I take lots of things seriously. The hotel, for one.’

‘I’m talking about us. If you move in here, if you commit to a future with me, what’s the worst that could happen?’

I could lose you. That’s why I haven’t ever properly claimed you. Because if you’re never mine to lose, then … The logic is too faulty. I can’t say it. And besides, I don’t want him to know how much he means to me. Knowledge is power, and I want the power on my side.

‘You might change.’

‘So you like me as I am?’

‘Of course.’

‘I can’t promise I’ll never change. People do. But I’ll be open with you, always. You’ll always know what I’m thinking. If I’m going to change, you’ll be the first to know.’

‘I might change, and then you might not like me any more.’

‘That would matter to you?’

‘God, Lloyd, of course it would. You seem to think that there’s no other expression of love or loyalty or commitment than the traditional sharing of worldly goods and finances. That’s not the definition of it, you know.’

‘I do know that, Sophie. I think you love me, though you’ve never said so. I think that scares you, and that’s why you’re so reluctant to do something that would be positive for us both, and fun, and practical and … just the right thing to do. I want to know why it scares you. I want to know you.’

‘That’s the thing. I don’t want you to know me. If you really knew me, you probably wouldn’t like me.’

‘You’re so … Oh God.’ He rests his head on the table, pantomiming epic frustration. ‘Sophie. Listen. I like you. I love you, in fact. I don’t care if you have secret plans to assassinate the Cabinet. I don’t care if you poisoned a guinea pig in nineteen ninety-four. I don’t care if you have sex with other men. I love you. Do you understand that? Can you comprehend it?’

‘I don’t think I can.’ I twist the tablecloth in my hand, looking at a particularly gorgeous effusion of indigo. ‘Sorry.’

He pauses to drink some coffee, watching me all the while. ‘When your father left,’ he says, ‘how did that affect you?’

‘I was gutted. I was only five. I didn’t understand.’

‘But you came to understand?’

‘No, not really. I never did.’

‘You’ve always said that life carried on as normal and it was fine and you were fine and you all coped really well.’

‘We did! I went to school and did well and had friends and all that.’

‘What friends?’

‘School friends. Girl friends.’

‘You aren’t in touch with any of them.’

‘Well, no. I moved away.’

‘Email? Facebook? Phones?’

‘What’s your point, Lloyd?’

‘You won’t let anyone get beyond your inner wall, will you? They can get so close and no closer. I’m no psychiatrist but …’

‘You think it’s because my dad left? Abandonment issues? How trite.’