Chapter 12

“I’m sure you could reapply to Oxford, you know.”

“I’m sure I don’t want to.”

“You would have done so well.”

“I’m doing well now.”

“Are you?”

It was unusually blunt. Mike eyed the wine glass in her hand, and wondered how many had preceded it.

“Yes.” Stephen’s posture was straighter than an American football player. “We bought a house. Mike got promoted to head of his department. We’re talking about starting a family.”

Doing a lot more than talking about it.

“A family?”

“Yes. You know. Kids.”

“Kids,” she echoed faintly, as though he’d said ‘cunts.’ Her hand actually drifted up to her necklace in a vague, pearl-clutching motion.

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Another pause. Mike counted in his head. Three. Two. One.

“With Michael?”

There it was.

“Mike,” said Mike.

“Of course with Mike,” Stephen said in a voice tighter than a nun’s twat. “Who else?”

“Well.” She paused. Then she said, “Well,” again.