Prologue

      ‘They say you can tell the old married couples in a restaurant by the fact that they don’t talk to each other.’

      ‘Mmh.’

      ‘I said, couples who’ve been together for ages stop communicating.’

      ‘Is that so?’

      Samantha took a deep breath. He was still shovelling curry into his mouth. She had finished eating ages ago, but he was still hard at it, to the exclusion of all else. She sat back and looked around the room in frustration. It seemed to her as if all the other tables were full of people talking, laughing and enjoying themselves. Everybody except Neil and her. Although they were neither old, nor married, this was the way their relationship had developed over the past year. She sighed inwardly.

      Then he paused, laid down his fork and looked up. She felt pleasantly surprised until she saw him raise a finger and call the waiter over.

      ‘Another pint of lager, please.’ The waiter nodded and went off.

      ‘You could have asked if I wanted something.’ She knew she sounded petulant, but she was powerless to hide it.

      Neil had already picked up his fork again by this time, but he hesitated, shooting her a glance. ‘Well, do you want something?’

      ‘No, thank you.’

      ‘Oh for Christ’s sake…’ He returned to his chicken madras. She returned to her thoughts.

      She and he were only thirty, but there were times when it felt to her like they were a couple of pensioners. They had been together now for almost four years, living in a microscopic flat while they both finished their postgraduate studies. She had another year to go until she finished her doctorate, but she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that their relationship would be over long before then. A thought crossed her mind.

      ‘Have you got your suit cleaned, ready for the wedding a week on Saturday?’ This, at least, caused him to interrupt his meal. He looked up and the expression on his face wasn’t happy.

      ‘A week on Saturday? You mean the seventeenth? But I’m supposed to be going to the races with the boys that afternoon.’ He caught her eye. ‘I told you about it weeks ago.’

      ‘You did? Well I told you about Moira’s wedding months ago. And I’ve been talking about it for days now. I only bought my dress this week and showed it to you.’ He was looking a bit shifty now.

      ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t know it was that Saturday.’ He gave up on the curry and laid down his fork. ‘But Guy arranged this races thing ages ago. Do I really have to go to the wedding?’ Now it was his turn to sound like a grumbling teenager.

      ‘Yes you do, Neil. We replied to the invitation saying we would both be going, so we both go.’

      ‘You replied to the invitation.’

      ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Neil, grow up, will you? We’ve been invited, we’ve accepted, and we’re going. And that’s the end of it.’

      ‘So who gives you the right to decide what I can and can’t do?’ His face bore the familiar stubborn, irritable expression she had been seeing more of lately. ‘It’s not as if we’re married, you know.’

      ‘So you’re saying that if we were married, I’d be able to tell you what to do?’

      ‘No bloody way.’

      ‘Well, don’t worry, that’s not going to happen.’

      ‘Damn right.’

      The arrival of the waiter to remove the plates temporarily interrupted their argument.

      ‘Some ice cream?’ He was a friendly-looking man with terrible teeth. ‘Or some lychees, maybe?’ He balanced the plates on his arm and waited for a response.

      Neil didn’t even glance across at Samantha. ‘No, thanks. Just the bill please.’