“That’s good.”

“Unless he’s gone to get reinforcements.”

“I used to be able to tell when you were kidding.”

“I used to be able to tell myself.”

“Never mind. We’ll be on another plane in an hour.” Ava yawned and stretched. “Does this count as coming to Malaysia? Can I say I’ve been here on the basis of five hours in an airport terminal?”

“Definitely. You could start conversations with, When I was in Malaysia last Thursday, and then look embarrassed and refuse to say any more.”

“I never get to have conversations,” said Ava. “That’s not how it works with the people Paul and I know. We stand in bars or sit around dinner tables or get together for drinks parties, and competitively exchange facts. We’re going to Tenerife for a few weeks this summer. Annabel’s taking her dance exams next week. We can’t decide whether to use Adrian’s bonus to go mortgage-free, or stretch ourselves and invest in somewhere bigger. If I said, I was over in Kuala Lumpur the other week, they wouldn’t say, Oh, that’s interesting, what were you doing? If they’d been there themselves they’d say, Malaysia’s fun for a couple of days, isn’t it? Although I prefer Bali myself. And if they hadn’t been there they’d say, I must get round to Malaysia some time. Somehow we always seem to end up going somewhere else – and then we’d be back onto the competitive facts exchange without missing a beat.”

“They need livening up,” said Finn. “Start making up outrageous lies and see if they fall for them. Tell them you’re going to look round Blenheim Palace with a view to buying a little place there. Just seventeen rooms plus a service apartment.”

“Paul would have a fit.”

“Do him good.”

“Do you know,” Ava said thoughtfully, “I used to think Paul was a great conversationalist because we never seemed to stop talking. Then one day I realised he’s not great at conversations at all. He’s great at monologues. We drove up to Manchester once and as an experiment I decided not to speak until he asked me a direct question. It took us five hours, and he never did. And he didn’t notice.”

Finn was silent.

“Even our arguments are like monologues. He says what he thinks, and I disagree with him, and he restates what he thinks in a more elaborate way. And I get more and more frustrated until I end up in tears, and then he apologises for upsetting me, and that’s the end of it. But he never actually changes his mind.”

Finn squeezed her hand where it lay on his hair.

“This is the part where you say, Ah well, husbands, eh? Never mind, how many other men would stand for their wives leaving them a note saying, Gone to get Finn, back in a week or so? And then we change the subject and talk about something else.”

“How about I say, You could leave him?”

“I can’t do that.”