Page 10 of Mad About You

‘No, no. Oh, fucking hell. I’ve made a pig’s ear of this.’

Harriet said nothing. It still didn’t sound nor look like real contrition to her. She didn’t think he even believed her. Harriet had presented him with a hurdle he’d have to navigate, that was all. If they left it here, by tomorrow, the fantasy would have reasserted itself, such was its power. He’d be cheerfully whistling and secretly scheming how to incorporate an expurgated version of their exchange tonight into his speech.What was I like!

‘So … Do you want to officially break off the engagement, or simply put the idea on hold, say we’re doing a long engagement?Pleasekeep the ring, though. It looks perfect on you. We can call it a commitment symbol or something.’

The ring. After everything she’d said, he was fretting about a piece of jewellery. Harriet felt an electric prickle up her spine, and for the second time today, rollercoaster-drop nauseous.How did she end up here? What was she like?And suddenly she knew, with crystal clarity. The thing that her gut had been telling her for a while. She’d been letting those messages accumulate like unopened bills, and now the bailiff was at the door.

She took a deep breath into her lungs.

‘I don’t want to be with you anymore. This is over, Jon.’

6

He stared at her, eyes wide, skin turning a terrible lime-white colour, chalky, like the paintwork. It was his spirit dying, in real time.

Eventually he said: ‘You can’t be serious …? You’re breaking up with me?’

‘Yes.’

‘… Because I botched a proposal?! Harriet, this is ridiculous. You’re quite right to be angry but let’s not turn this into a full-tilt drama.’ He paused. ‘I don’t need any more punishment to understand how upset you are.’

She hard-gulped, as the tears surged up. ‘I’d hardly say this and not mean it, to punish you. That would be vile.’

‘Then why say it now?’

Harriet said, thickly: ‘You’ve kind of forced the issue tonight.’

‘So you weren’t happy before I proposed?’

Deep breath.Say it.

‘No.’

Jon said: ‘Really?’ in a broken voice, which was a small stab to her heart.

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t love me?’

Harriet closed her eyes. ‘Not in the way I need to.’

‘What the hell doesthatmean?’

‘Just … what I said.’ She opened them again. It was as if Jon was shrinking inside his clothes. She hated herself.

‘How do you love me then? Like a hamster?’

‘… I feel this has run its course.’

‘Oh, all the lazy cliches coming out tonight! What’s up next, you love me but you’re notin lovewith me?’

Harriet said nothing.

She realised she had on some level known that this conversation would be barely any less traumatic for her, which was partly why she’d never looked directly at it. Harriet was not skilled at antagonism.

Yet it was still even worse than she could have imagined. The version in her head didn’t have this ugly, hollow quality to the air around them, as if the oxygen levels had plummeted.

Jon walked across the room and sat on the bed, head in hands. When he looked up again, his eyes were red.

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