He’d never heard her voice shake. ‘What other places?’ he said.

‘The apartment in New York. Hampshire. The house on St Barts.’

He had been tantalised by these words before, but hearing her say them now made him breathless.

‘Ed can have all that stuff,’ she said, ‘and worry about what to do with it all – he likes it.’

He put his hand on her knee, to steady himself. He felt almost dizzy.

‘I just want it clean,’ she was saying. ‘So whatever comes to me is controllable. Otherwise it’s our whole lives. It’s a recipe for madness.’

‘We don’t need to be rich,’ he said. ‘You’ll never be like them.’

He kept his hand on her knee and waited.

‘So,’ she said. ‘Have you thought?’

‘Yes.’ It was time to put a number on it. He tried not to sound as though he’d planned it. ‘If we sell our flat, we won’t walk away with much.’

‘True.’

‘So, what if we get a better flat?’

‘With a mortgage,’ said Bea.

‘Why?’

‘Who doesn’t have a mortgage?’ She was scandalised.

‘Who, Bea? Very lucky people, that’s who,’ he said. ‘All right. A mortgage. But small.’

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Agreed.’

He tried not to rush. ‘And, like you said, I need to take some time out. I’ve only got my foundation, I was thinking I could do a degree, maybe. But then, that’s three years. I’ll be thirty-three. So maybe not. Maybe I could just take a few months to think about it.’

‘Good idea.’

‘And that will cost money.’

‘How much money?’ she said.

‘Like … twenty-five grand?’

‘Twenty-five, OK.’ She sounded relieved.

‘Or thirty,’ he said. ‘Thirty – say, thirty-five grand for a year. That’s a salary, right?’

‘It’s more than mine.’

‘Which is not much, living in London. So. Thirty-five, to live for a year. And not go back to fucking Foundations of fucking Holloway ever again.’ He gave her a flash of a smile.

‘A year, from September,’ she confirmed.

‘Yes.’

She relaxed, a little. She smiled.

‘Oh.’ His face fell. ‘Shit.’

‘What?’

‘We won’t get a mortgage, will we? If I’m not working.’ He put his other hand onto her knee, for emphasis, talking straight into her face. ‘We should buy the new flat without one.’

As she felt the walls close in, he felt them dissolve – the ceiling, blown clear off, to open sky.

‘Go on,’ she said, looking into his eyes.

His pupils were dilated, his hands were warm. ‘OK, well, say … we get a flat with no mortgage.’

‘Everybody wants a home,’ she said. ‘Everybody needs to own something. Simone Weil calls ownership one of the “needs of the soul”. You’re right, I’m sorry.’

‘No mortgage, then?’

‘No.’

‘Great,’ said Dan. ‘Then we should get a house.’

‘A house?’

‘Then we don’t have to move, when we have a baby.’