‘Well, no, she’s recovered. Although it took a long time. She was fragile for an age, just like I said. Really dependent and clinging, after my father died. But … she’s in Connecticut. She’s, ah, OK now. Fine. Yes. She did go through a bad patch though. Believe me. Look, darling, I’m truly sorry. I got caught in a sort of web … a maze of lies. I have been so upset about it all. So upset about the things I was saying to you.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘Everything will be all right now. Different. I promise.’ He stretched his hand across the table, hoping to find mine. I picked up the whiskey glass and held it against my chest, like a shield, held tight in my laced fingers.

‘And the children. Tell me about them.’

‘Three. Maria, Julia and Anna.’

It was like getting treacle from a well. ‘Ages?’

‘Ten, six and … ah … two months.’

‘Two months!’

‘Well, nearly.’

‘You mean to say that your wife has had a baby since you and I … since … This woman with whom you do not really live? You mean to say that?’

‘I mean to say,’ he leant towards me, his voice low and very controlled, ‘that I have a wife with whom I live; sometimes we have friendly relations, most of the time we do not. I do not hate her. I do not love her, but I live with her. I love my children. I love you. I have told you that and you must believe it. I have been very, very foolish, Clara. I realise that now. If this is causing you pain, I can only say how sorry I am. They were well-intentioned lies I told you.’

‘I like that. I like well-intentioned lies. I must remember that.’

‘Don’t fool about, Clara. Now you know the truth we can begin to put our relationship on a more stable footing.’

‘A what?’

‘Work out a pattern.’

I was trembling all over; I was literally shaking in my shoes. I wondered if I was going to be able to stand up. Quickly I swallowed the rest of the whiskey and put the glass on the table. I twisted my hands tightly together, hurting my fingers as I squeezed and pressed. The whiskey was burning my throat.

‘And anagram …?’

He looked puzzled. ‘An – a – gram. My anagram, my alter ego, my shadow – does she know about me? I am her anagram. Carla – Clara. Isn’t that delightful? Will she find it delightful and join us in creating a pattern?’

‘Don’t be silly, Clara. Finish your drink, darling, and let’s go somewhere else.’

I stood up slowly and reached out for the pint of Guinness. I had at last discovered the purpose of Guinness, I thought to myself as I poured it quite slowly, or so it seemed to me, over his head.

‘Hey!’