‘There are things I like about her.’

‘Which things?’

‘She’s trying: she actually believes she can do something to change the world. When she’s not insulting me or boasting about her achievements she’s quite funny. She has this idea that everything is a battle – it’s useful to her, it’s how she writes her pieces – but she forgets it after a while. Or she does with me. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to outshine me like she does you.’

‘And you like that about her, do you?’ Emily said, incredulously.

Which stung a little.

*

Sophie’s questions about my relationship with Emily had been more direct.

‘What is it with you two anyway?’ she said, as soon as we’d got into the Uber she’d ordered. ‘Are you fucking?’

‘Do you really think I’d come round for Sunday lunch with her and Andrew if we were having an affair?’

‘You might find it erotic. You might get off on rubbing my dad’s nose in it. In fact you look like just the sort who’d enjoy that.’

The driver glanced behind him.

‘There’s something between you,’ she continued. ‘Those little glances you give each other when you think we’re not watching.’

‘That’s us being satirical when you say something objectionable.’

She didn’t like this. ‘So you feel superior to me, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Only when you say outrageous things.’

‘And what have you two done to be able to judge whether I’m being outrageous or not? I can see it with her: she’s got her books, her prizes – but you? What’ve you done, Paul? What have you achieved?’

‘Not much. But nor have I ever tried to belittle someone because of their lack of achievements. You know, for someone who doesn’t shut up about being a socialist, you sound just like a Tory.’

She breathed in quickly, then smiled. ‘What else is wrong with me?’

‘Oh, Jesus, you’re perfect – there’s nothing wrong with you.’

‘No. What’s wrong with me?’

‘Really?’

‘I want to know.’

‘OK. You talk over people.’

‘Yeah?’

‘You don’t listen. You have rehearsed opinions on things you haven’t read. You’re obsessed with privilege and unaware of how your own privilege makes you think. You’re rude and aggressive. You’re elitist. You’re transparently on the make.’

‘You are fucking her, aren’t you?’

‘All the time. It turns us on, slagging you off. We fuck in your dad’s bed when he’s out at work.’

‘You’re not really angry with me, are you?’

‘I don’t really understand why you want to be in here with me.’

‘Tell me more about what’s wrong with me.’

‘I’m running out of things that are wrong with you. There’s so much I like about you.’