I pick up a pillow and bash him over the head.
He grabs it off me, throws it across the bedroom, pulls me on to his chest by my upper arms and kisses me. ‘Argumentative Alice,’ he whispers. He flips me on to my back. I chuckle and knot my ankles around his waist. We have made love twice before that unbelievably banal, waste-of-life film – before and after our takeaway curry.
‘Condom?’ I say.
He looks at me, and stops. ‘Gosh! We’ve run out.’
I push at his shoulders. ‘What? How?’
‘Excuse me, I’m always astonished by my own prowess, but even I didn’t think we’d be doing it three times.’
‘No glove. No love,’ I practically sing.
He gives me a horrified look. ‘God, you didn’t seriously say that, did you?’
I beam. ‘No.’ I look across my shoulder. ‘It was her.’ I pull a face at the imaginary joy-killer. ‘Shut up, you!’
‘You’re a nutter.’ He pulls me to him again, to continue where we left off.
Afterward, we are back to the ‘side position, propped up on elbow, looking at one another’ thing, and I say, ‘Doesn’t it worry you that we didn’t use anything?’ It brings back memories of Colin. How – and this really is between me, my memory and the four walls – I used to try to convince him not to use protection. There was a time when I’d actually imagined that if I’d got pregnant, the very nature of learning you’re about to be a father would have convinced him that he wanted to be one. I really was that deluded.
‘Not really,’ Justin says. ‘I’m fine if you don’t want to use birth control. I mean, I would understand.’
‘Hang on . . . You want me to be the mother of your children? Out of wedlock?’
‘Leave my Catholic values out of this, thank you!’ He appears to be contemplating his proper response a second or two longer than you’d think would be necessary, given that it was a fairly basic question. Then he says, ‘Well, obviously I assume we’re going to, you know, have some sort of future together.’
‘As in, get married?’
‘That . . . Yes. But I’m just saying, as you get older, you think about these things more seriously. A woman’s biological clock. Or at least, a woman you care about.’
‘You think I’m approaching my sell-by date.’
He kisses me quickly and smiles – caught out. I go to bring another pillow down on his head.
‘I’m not being insulting!’ He pretends to hide behind his hands. ‘Or maybe I am . . . In which case, I’m sorry; that was not my intent. I just mean that, well, obviously you want to have a kid when you know you’re likely to have a healthy baby, right?’
I scowl at him. ‘But there’s never any guarantee of that.’
‘No. But your chances of a lot of things increase with waiting, Alice. And, don’t get me wrong, I’m thinking about myself in this, too. I’m thirty-eight. I also have a clock, in a way. I don’t want to be a sixty-year-old with a teenager, or be worrying about paying for their education when I’m seventy. And, like I say, I just have a feeling we’re going somewhere.’
‘Why do we have to be going somewhere?’ I’m not sure why I’m asking this. It is a lot like tempting fate. Perhaps it’s because I’d always wanted a future from my relationships, and I’d never got one, so I’m operating with reverse psychology.
‘Don’t we?’ He frowns.
I can tell this question has wrong-footed him slightly.
‘Because if we’re not, then you should say.’ He sits up. He isn’t chilled out any more. I have spoilt something. Again. ‘I think it’s important for honesty here, Alice. I certainly wouldn’t want to be wasting your time, and, frankly, I don’t want my own wasted, either.’ He’s become way too serious, and I wish I’d never said it. Why do I have to sabotage everything? It’s so damned annoying. ‘Time isn’t really on our side quite as much as we always like to think.’
‘Considering my womb is nearly collecting its pension.’
‘Precisely.’ He pretend-flinches, no doubt expecting me to attack him with a pillow again. I love his good-natured ability to change shadow to light.
‘Justin. Can I ask you something? Do you ever know how to answer simple, harmless questions without always making a big, heavy deal of everything?’
He scowls again. ‘What have I made a big heavy deal of? Fuck, Alice! You asked me if it bothered me that we didn’t use birth control, and I said no!’
‘You’re such a weirdo.’
‘Then we balance each other out. Because you’re so perfect. Obviously.’
I beam another smile. ‘Is right!’
We hold eyes, and I mentally say the things I will never say to him. With each passing day, Justin is turning out to be less and less like any man I’ve known, when it comes to his perspective on life, his maturity, and the fact that he genuinely seems to care about things that don’t just directly impact himself. He never appears confused, like all the others – when it comes to what he wants and, more importantly, about whether he wants me. He seems so certain of us that I do not trust it. I will eat, sleep, wake up, and the fact that Justin is there beside me, happy to be with me, still feels like something sent to mess with me.