“As I’m sure you know, there’s a lot of talk in our business about doing things differently – what people call out of the box ideas. But really, with management consultancy, it’s all about sticking to what you know. Frankly, there is a box, and we’ve got to put the right things into it before we start thinking about everything outside of the box that might be … that might be …”

“Also put into the box?”

“Yes. Thank you, Juliana. We have to know what’s meant to be in the box before we put stuff from outside the box into the box that’s not supposed to be in there.”

Stephen’s boss, Trevor McNade – we could just call him Trevor, but he was one of those people who always seemed to demand a surname too – had been talking like this, about boxes and ideas, while emphasising certain words seemingly at random, for a while. Stephen and Jenny were in a circle of people standing round him, in his very grand living room, under his very grand chandelier. Everyone was holding champagne glasses and nodding. Really nodding.

Suddenly, though, Jenny stopped nodding.

“Sorry, Trevor …” – she wanted to say Trevor McNade, but she managed, just, to keep it to Trevor – “… but surely the whole point of thinking outside the box is that the stuff you think of – that’s outside the box – well, it never goes in the box.”

There was a short silence, during which Trevor McNade adjusted his tie, fiddled with his glasses and his suit buttons, and frowned at Jenny. The elegant woman next to him – Juliana – whispered, “Stephen Moore’s wife, sir,” into his ear.

Stephen glared at Jenny. Jenny mouthed, What?

“What do you mean …” said Trevor McNade, “… never goes in the box?”

“Well, outside the box means … y’know … outside the box. So the expression refers to ideas and thoughts that are so unusual that we basically have to throw the box away.”

Jenny laughed nervously as she said this. No one else joined in. Trevor McNade stared at her, like she was mad, for about a minute – but it felt much longer – and then started talking about something else. At which point Stephen made a furious head gesture to Jenny to meet him in Trevor McNade’s very grand hallway.

“What?” said Jenny, out loud this time.

“Come on, darling. You know why we’re here,” said Stephen, looking over her shoulder at the dining room, where guests were starting to sit down for dinner.

“To agree with everything Trevor McNade says?”

“Yes. Basically.”

Jenny sighed. “OK. I’m sorry. Let’s get it over with. Do you want to call the babysitter and check everything’s all right before we begin dinner?”

Stephen nodded and took out his phone. Then suddenly, down Trevor McNade’s long and (obviously) very grand staircase, came a young boy wearing a suit and tie and glasses – a suit and tie and glasses very similar to, but a little smaller than, Trevor McNade’s.

“Would you please get out of my way?” said the boy.

“Sorry,” said Stephen, moving aside.

“Ridiculous, you people cluttering up the hallway. My father specifically asked me to join his guests in the dining room at 6.49pm as we sit down to eat.”

“Sorry,” said Stephen again.

“Well, just remember that my starter isn’t getting any warmer.”

“Sorry,” said Jenny.

The boy sniffed, as if to say, Don’t do it again, and moved through to the main room to join the dinner party. Jenny and Stephen heard the words: “Ah! Cyril!” and “How good of you to join us!” and “One minute late though, aren’t you?” from inside.

“Cyril seems nice,” said Jenny.

“No, he doesn’t,” said Stephen.

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh.”

“What he really seems like …” said Jenny after a short pause, looking meaningfully at Stephen “… is a boy whose father has taught him that there is only one way to think: his way.”

Stephen stared at her, then he turned his attention to the dining room where the guests were all seated. Cyril and Trevor McNade were sitting together, smiling smugly as everyone told them how marvellous they both were.

Stephen put his phone away. “Shall we get out of here?” he said to his wife.