‘Is it bad that I didn’t tell the truth to those guys? I don’t even think they’re twenty-one themselves yet. I didn’t wanna alienate them, or make myself feel so goddamn old. Does that make me horribly vain?’

‘God, no. I felt like a granny next to them two.’

‘And you’re still pretty young.’

‘Well … not really. But I’ll take the compliment. Ta.’

We clink bottles, drink.

‘She left you after twenty-one years?’ I ask, but quietly and more to reiterate the point, not expecting him to elaborate.

‘Twenty-four years, actually. We were high school sweethearts: met young, married young, as soon as we’d both finished college. She was the love of my life. The only life I’ve ever known. Apologies for sounding, I dunno – kinda cheesy.’

‘It’s not cheesy at all. It’s the truth, right? You basically spent your entire adult life with her. The end of your childhood, too.’

‘Right. I can’t be the same guy as I was before I met her, but I also don’t know who I am without her. What were you like twenty years ago? Wildly different, you think? Or, do we never change? Are we actually always the same?’

‘Oh, wow. I dunno. I think I was the same. Well, I was sort of the same until … recently.’ I sink a little lower into the hot tub, enjoying the comfort of the water hugging me like a blanket. I think about myself as a teenager, spending my Saturday job wages in Miss Selfridge. I used to laugh with my mates so much. About everything, about nothing. Going to the library satisfied me. Getting a phone call enthralled me. ‘I was just younger. Happier.’

‘I want that again,’ Justin says, unconvincingly.

‘So, what happened? Did she just decide she was done? I mean, don’t answer if you don’t want to, Justin, I’m being a right nosy cow.’

He laughs. Again, I imagine it’s my accent.

‘I guess she was done, yeah. Done with me, that’s for sure. Not the new guy at her work, though. She’s not done with him. Oh, no. She’s doing him! Doing him so much, she’s having his goddamn baby. We never had kids. We tried, but …’

‘Oh, Justin. And here was me thinking, oh, whatever. You got dumped. Boo fucking hoo. Goes to show, everyone’s got their pain.’

‘And you?’

‘And me, what?’

‘Your pain. It’s evident. If you wanna talk about it?’

‘Me fingertips’ve gone all wrinkly,’ I say, splaying my hands out. ‘How about we dry off and hit another bar. I might feel like talking about it then.’

‘And if you don’t, I might insist we play my favourite game?’

‘Yeah, I love games. What is it?’

‘Creating the most evil insults possible to describe my ex-wife.’

I don’t disapprove, but that sounds like a bullshit game.

20