Oh, I forgot. Is it a bad time to talk? I can hang up.
No, it’s not a bad time. Did you have your poetry thing on tonight?
Eileen told him about the event. She gave him the ‘moon in June’ joke and he laughed appreciatively. And we had a Trump poem, she told him. Simon said the idea made him earnestly wish for the embrace of death. She asked him about the conference he was attending in London and he described at length a ‘conversation session’ entitled
‘Beyond the EU: Britain’s International Future’. It was just four identical middle-aged guys in glasses, Simon said. I mean, they looked like photoshopped versions of each
other. It was surreal. Eileen asked him what he was doing now, and he said he was finishing something for work. She rolled over onto her back, looking up at the faint pinprick pattern of mould on the ceiling.
It’s not good for your health, working so late, she said. Where are you, in your hotel room?
Right, he replied. Sitting on the bed.
She pulled her knees up so her feet were flat on the mattress, her legs making a tent shape under the quilt. You know what you need, Simon? she said. You need a little wife for yourself. Don’t you? A little wife to come up to you at midnight and put her hand on your shoulder and say, okay, that’s enough now, you’re working too late. Let’s get some sleep.
Simon switched the phone to his other ear and said: You paint a compelling picture.
Can’t your girlfriend go on work trips with you?
She’s not my girlfriend, he said. She’s just someone I’ve been seeing.
I don’t get that distinction. What’s the difference between a girlfriend and someone you’re seeing?
We’re not in an exclusive relationship.
Eileen rubbed her eye with her free hand, smudging some dark make-up onto her hand and onto the side of her face over her cheekbone. So you’re having sex with someone else as well, are you? she said.
I’m not, no. But I believe she is.
Eileen dropped her hand then. She is? she said. Jesus. How attractive is the other guy?
Sounding amused, he replied: I have no idea. Why do you ask?
I just mean, if he’s less attractive than you, why bother? And if he’s as attractive as you are— Well, I think I’d like to meet this woman and shake her hand.
What if he’s more attractive than I am?
Please. Impossible.
He settled himself back a little against the headboard. You mean because I’m so handsome? he said.
Yes.
I know, but say it.
Laughing then, she said: Because you’re so handsome.
Eileen, thank you. How kind. You’re not so bad yourself.
She nestled her head down into the pillow. I got an email from Alice today, she said.
That’s nice. How is she?
She says it’s not such a big deal that Aidan broke up with me because we weren’t really that happy anyway.
Simon paused, as if waiting for her to continue, and then asked: Did she actually say that?
In so many words, yes.
And what do you think?
Eileen let out a sigh and answered: Never mind.
It doesn’t sound like a very sensitive thing to say.
With her eyes closed she said: You’re always defending her.
I just said she was being insensitive.
But you think she has a point.
He was frowning, toying with a hotel-branded pen on the bedside table. No, he said. I think he wasn’t good enough for you, but that’s different. Did she really say it wasn’t a big deal?
In so many words. And you know she’s going to Rome to promote her book next week, right?
He put the pen down again. Is she? he asked. I thought she was taking a break from all that stuff.
She was, until she got bored.
I see. That’s funny. I’ve been trying to go and see her, but she’s always saying it’s not a good time. Are you worried about her?
Eileen let out a harsh laugh. No, I’m not worried, she said. I’m annoyed. You can be worried.
You could be both, he remarked.
Whose side are you on?
Smiling, he answered in a low soothing tone of voice: I’m on your side, princess.
She smiled then too, wryly, reluctantly, and pushed her hair back from her forehead.
Are you in bed yet? she asked.
No, sitting up. Unless you’d like me to get in bed while we’re still on the phone?
Yes, I would like that.
Ah, well. That can be arranged.
He got up and put his laptop down on a small writing desk in front of a wall mirror.
Most of the floor space behind him was taken up by the bed, which was made up with white sheets pulled tightly under the mattress. He was still holding the phone while he plugged his laptop into a charging cable at the wall.
You know, if your wife was there now, said Eileen, she would take your tie off for you.
Are you wearing a tie?
No.
What are you wearing?
He glanced at himself in the mirror and looked away again, turning back toward the bed. The rest of the suit, he said. And no shoes, obviously. I take those off when I come in, like a civilised person.
So the jacket comes off next? she said.
Taking off his jacket, which involved switching his phone around between his hands, he said: That would be the usual order of business.
Then the wife would take that off for you and hang it up, said Eileen.
How nice of her.
And she would unbutton your shirt for you. Not just procedurally, but in a loving and tender way. Does that get hung up as well?
Simon, who was unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, said no, that would just go back in his suitcase to get washed when he went home.
After that I don’t know what’s next, said Eileen. Are you wearing a belt of some description?
I am, he said.
Closing her eyes, Eileen went on: She takes that off next, and she puts that away wherever it goes. Where do you put your belt when you take it off, as it happens?
On a hanger.
You’re so neat, said Eileen. That’s one thing the wife loves about you.
Why, is she a neat person herself? Or she loves it because opposites attract?
Hm. She’s not really sloppy or anything, but she’s not as neat as you are. And she aspires. Are you undressed now?
Not quite yet, he said. I’ve been holding the phone the whole time. Can I put it down for a second and then pick it back up again?
With a shy self-conscious smile, Eileen replied: Of course you can, I’m not holding you hostage.
No, but I don’t want you to get bored and hang up on me.
Not to worry, I won’t.
He put the phone down on the nearest corner of the bed and finished undressing. Eileen lay with her eyes closed, the phone held loosely in her right hand near her face. Wearing just a pair of dark-grey boxer shorts now, Simon picked the phone back up and lay down on the bed with his head on the pillows. I’m back, he said.
What time do you usually finish work? said Eileen. Just out of curiosity.
Around eight. Probably more like half eight, lately, because everyone’s busy.
Your wife would have a job that finishes a lot earlier than that.
Would she? said Simon. I’m jealous.
And when you got home she would have dinner waiting.
He smiled. Do you think I’m that old-fashioned? he asked.
Eileen opened her eyes, as if her reverie had been interrupted. I think you’re a human being, she said. Who doesn’t want to have dinner waiting for them if they’re stuck at work until half eight? If you’d rather come home to an empty house and make your own dinner, my apologies.