‘I want you to get rid of her.’ Bob is back.
Which her, Mr B wonders. Not Lucy, surely?
‘My mother. She’s driving me insane. Get rid of her.’
Mr B is consumed with an irresistible urge to laugh. ‘Get rid of your mother? How do you propose I do that?’
Bob does not answer. He stuffs an entire croissant into his mouth, hoping that his inability to speak will deflect attention from the fact that he has no intention of doing so.
Mr B shrugs. ‘I couldn’t get rid of her if I tried. She’s indestructible. A universal force.’
The boy’s face clouds over with annoyance. ‘Well, then, force her to go away and stop ruining my life.’
‘No can do, buddy boy. Your mother’s your own problem. I’m as powerless in the matter as you are.’
Bob flushes with rage. ‘But she listens to you,’ he shouts. ‘She likes you!’
‘You’re her son. She likes you more,’ says he, sipping his coffee, unsure if the statement he has just made is true. ‘Why don’t you reason with her?’
‘Hello? Have you met my mother? She’s immune to reason. She’s made up her mind about Lucy, and who knows what she’s plotting.’
‘She is, of course, perfectly correct about Lucy.’
Bob’s eyes roll back. For a moment, it looks as if his head might explode.
Mr B thinks. ‘I could talk to her,’ he says at last. ‘But I should like something in return.’
‘In return?’ The boy looks genuinely nonplussed. ‘Why should I do anything for you in return?’
‘Because…’ Mr B finishes his coffee and replaces the cup gently in the saucer. ‘Because, if you don’t, there’s no deal.’
Bob’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘What? What are you talking about? Of course there is. There’s always a deal.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says everyone. It’s obvious. You have to. I’m the boss, you’re not. You do what I say. End of story.’
‘Ah. Now, you see, that is where you’re wrong, technically speaking. In point of fact, my compliance is key to the execution of your desires.’
Bob chokes. ‘Do you mean to say that if you don’t want to do what I say you don’t have to?’
Mr B nods.
‘Since when?’
A shrug. ‘Since always.’
Bob staggers to his feet, appalled, then sits down again with a crash. ‘Why have you never mentioned this?’
‘Why bother? My job is to comply with your wishes, so that’s what I’ve done. But nothing actually forces me to do so.’ Mr B pauses. ‘It’s what you might call a loophole.’
‘A loophole?’ Bob nearly screams the words. ‘Are you insane? If anyone’s going to create a loophole around here, it’s me. And this is not one!’ He collapses in his chair.
‘Indeed.’ The older man sips his coffee.
Their eyes meet, and a current of something deeply unpleasant passes between them.
Bob has stopped chewing and looks as if he might cry. ‘You don’t care about me at all. No one cares about me except Lucy. Not even my own mother. Not even you.’
Lucy doesn’t care about you, Mr B thinks. Not the real you, at any rate. She has no idea who – or what – you are. But I do. He looks away, and when he turns back, his expression is mild. ‘Of course I care for you. Just as you care for me.’
Bob stuffs another piece of croissant into his mouth.
‘So I suppose you’ll be sorting out your most recent problems on your own, then.’ Mr B dabs at his mouth with a large white linen napkin.
Bob stops chewing. ‘Why not?’ he says, gathering together what remains of his shredded dignity. ‘I am God, after all. And I don’t need you.’
‘Good for you, that’s the spirit.’ Mr B rinses his cup in the kitchen, and returns, humming, to his desk.