[...] She thinks Laura might be more interested in me if I did some evening classes. We agree to differ or, at any rate, I hang up on her. [...]
It's only just beginning to occur to me that it's important to have something going on somewhere, at work or at home, otherwise you're just clinging on. If I lived in Bosnia, then not having a girlfriend wouldn't seem like the most important thing in the world, but here in Crouch End it does. You n…
'He goes on long enough,' I said one night, when we were both lying awake, staring at the ceiling. 'I should be so lucky,' said Laura. This was a joke. We laughed. Ha ha, we went. Ha, ha, ha. I'm not laughing now. Never has a joke filled me with such nausea and paranoia and insecurity and self-pity…
I don't know anybody called Ian. Laura doesn't know anybody called Ian. We've been together three years and I've never heard her mention an Ian. [...] I am almost certain that since 1989 she has been living in an Ianless universe.
And this certitude, this Ian-atheism, lasts until I get home. [..…
She asks how I am, and whether I'm looking after myself; she tells me that she doesn't think much of this Ian guy. We arrange to meet for a drink sometime next week. I hang up.
Which fucking Ian guy?
[...]
Which fucking Ian guy?
