6

One night I asked June if she would like to have tea with me. I made cheese on toast.

‘Have you ever been in love?’ she enquired.

‘No.’

‘Are you sure? You look as though you could have been.’

‘I promise you I never have.’

‘You look as though you could be in love quite easily. You look soulful and all that.’

‘Like a cow looking over a hedge?’

‘No, not like that. You look as though you have inner conflicts. I should think that you have been in love but you don’t want to tell me about it. Why don’t you want to tell me? Was it very unhappy? You can tell me about it, Wendy.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I haven’t been in love.’

‘I don’t believe you. Tell me what he was like.’

‘Well, actually, I did once have an affair. His name was Arnold.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Thin and bald.’

‘How old was he?’

‘About sixty.’

‘Good heavens!’

‘He may have been older. I never asked him. We would have got married, but his mother didn’t approve of me.’

‘How old was she?’

‘Ninety.’

‘You are silly, Wendy!’

‘It’s all true. His name was Arnold and he was very old and bald and he sagged at the knees, but he had a wonderful personality. Do you know what he did for a living?’

‘No.’

‘He caught bluebottles and made them into ink.’

‘Blue ink?’

‘No, red ink.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘You can believe me or not as you please, June, but I am most certainly speaking the truth. I always do.’