then?’ Charlotte stood up.
‘No, I—’
‘I’m sure I can find some peanuts or something. You must be getting pretty hungry.’
‘Actually, I’m intolerant to peanuts. If I eat one, I start to swell up and—’
‘Cashews, then?’
‘No, really, I’m fine.’
‘Let me see what I can find. Maybe Matt has some kind of organic snack.’
Justin thought it would be rude to object this time. Charlotte left the living room very quickly.
For a while, Justin remained perched on the edge of the sofa, his body bent forward at the forty-five-degree angle he used to signal interest in a conversation he was finding difficult. After
Charlotte had been gone for several minutes, he stood up and immediately noticed the view that appeared once he was looking down out of the window. In the bruise-coloured dusk, the landmarks of the
City dazzled against the forest of lights stretching off in every direction. The Gherkin and the other skyscrapers seemed incredibly close, as if they shared with the tower block a high-rise space
that ignored distances occupied by lesser buildings.
Coming closer to the window, Justin could see what must have been Smithfield market almost directly below. To the left he saw a strange warren of thick stone walls with ancient beamed roofs that
seemed oddly out of place among the concrete and brick. Away to the right he could make out the top of the glowing dome of St Paul’s, cradled in a ring of taller office blocks. Although it
was a small flat, Justin now understood what Matt saw in it. How wonderful to have the whole city spread out below you like that.
Justin turned away from the window. Odd that there was no one else here. Perhaps he should have gone to Barbara’s exhibition after all. He looked at his watch. Ten to eight. Where was
Charlotte? Well, never mind. Justin put down his wine and opened the battered Eastpak rucksack he always carried with him. If he could start reading over the section he’d written that
morning, then that would set him up well for the weekend. Relaxing into the sofa, he began to read.
He had barely got halfway through the statistics on mosquito-net penetration in rural Malawi when the doorbell went. Soon, he heard Barbara’s voice in the hall. Reluctantly, he put the
report back in his bag and stood up as Barbara and Charlotte came into the living room.
‘Hi, my love,’ he said.
‘Hi, Justin,’ she replied.
They smiled at each other but Barbara didn’t come over to kiss him.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Yeah. A large one, please.’
‘Red or white?’
‘Whatever. Red.’
When Charlotte left, Barbara flopped down in the recliner and exhaled noisily. ‘What a shitty day.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘The launch was a disaster.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come.’ He sat down facing her.
‘It wasn’t that. That’s not important.’
‘I’m sorry anyway. Did that gallery owner . . . I’m afraid I’ve forgotten his name – did he not come?’
‘Dieter Tunhelm? Of course he didn’t. But I don’t care about any of that. I was standing there, drinking wine out of a plastic cup, looking at my work, and I thought: this is
all a bunch of crap.’
‘Oh no! Some of it’s very nice!’ Justin leaned forward to show her how strongly he felt.
‘It’s just twelve ugly lumps of painted clay. What’s the point of it?’ Barbara waved her arm dismissively towards the television. ‘They say, if at first you
don’t succeed, try again. They say, if you work hard enough, you’ll be successful. But what if you’re a talentless nobody? They don’t say anything about that.’
‘You’re not a talentless nobody!’ Justin insisted.
‘I think I’m done with it.’
‘No!’
Barbara wasn’t looking at him. ‘And so I just left. I couldn’t take it any more.’
‘That’s a little bit mean for Mary, don’t you think? She put a lot of effort into—’
‘And then I walked around for a long
‘No, I—’
‘I’m sure I can find some peanuts or something. You must be getting pretty hungry.’
‘Actually, I’m intolerant to peanuts. If I eat one, I start to swell up and—’
‘Cashews, then?’
‘No, really, I’m fine.’
‘Let me see what I can find. Maybe Matt has some kind of organic snack.’
Justin thought it would be rude to object this time. Charlotte left the living room very quickly.
For a while, Justin remained perched on the edge of the sofa, his body bent forward at the forty-five-degree angle he used to signal interest in a conversation he was finding difficult. After
Charlotte had been gone for several minutes, he stood up and immediately noticed the view that appeared once he was looking down out of the window. In the bruise-coloured dusk, the landmarks of the
City dazzled against the forest of lights stretching off in every direction. The Gherkin and the other skyscrapers seemed incredibly close, as if they shared with the tower block a high-rise space
that ignored distances occupied by lesser buildings.
Coming closer to the window, Justin could see what must have been Smithfield market almost directly below. To the left he saw a strange warren of thick stone walls with ancient beamed roofs that
seemed oddly out of place among the concrete and brick. Away to the right he could make out the top of the glowing dome of St Paul’s, cradled in a ring of taller office blocks. Although it
was a small flat, Justin now understood what Matt saw in it. How wonderful to have the whole city spread out below you like that.
Justin turned away from the window. Odd that there was no one else here. Perhaps he should have gone to Barbara’s exhibition after all. He looked at his watch. Ten to eight. Where was
Charlotte? Well, never mind. Justin put down his wine and opened the battered Eastpak rucksack he always carried with him. If he could start reading over the section he’d written that
morning, then that would set him up well for the weekend. Relaxing into the sofa, he began to read.
He had barely got halfway through the statistics on mosquito-net penetration in rural Malawi when the doorbell went. Soon, he heard Barbara’s voice in the hall. Reluctantly, he put the
report back in his bag and stood up as Barbara and Charlotte came into the living room.
‘Hi, my love,’ he said.
‘Hi, Justin,’ she replied.
They smiled at each other but Barbara didn’t come over to kiss him.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Yeah. A large one, please.’
‘Red or white?’
‘Whatever. Red.’
When Charlotte left, Barbara flopped down in the recliner and exhaled noisily. ‘What a shitty day.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘The launch was a disaster.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come.’ He sat down facing her.
‘It wasn’t that. That’s not important.’
‘I’m sorry anyway. Did that gallery owner . . . I’m afraid I’ve forgotten his name – did he not come?’
‘Dieter Tunhelm? Of course he didn’t. But I don’t care about any of that. I was standing there, drinking wine out of a plastic cup, looking at my work, and I thought: this is
all a bunch of crap.’
‘Oh no! Some of it’s very nice!’ Justin leaned forward to show her how strongly he felt.
‘It’s just twelve ugly lumps of painted clay. What’s the point of it?’ Barbara waved her arm dismissively towards the television. ‘They say, if at first you
don’t succeed, try again. They say, if you work hard enough, you’ll be successful. But what if you’re a talentless nobody? They don’t say anything about that.’
‘You’re not a talentless nobody!’ Justin insisted.
‘I think I’m done with it.’
‘No!’
Barbara wasn’t looking at him. ‘And so I just left. I couldn’t take it any more.’
‘That’s a little bit mean for Mary, don’t you think? She put a lot of effort into—’
‘And then I walked around for a long
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