This didn’t help either.
Suddenly, Dennis knew what he had to say. He wasn’t happy that logic had led him to this point. He would much rather have been able to find another way of looking at things, but there wasn’t one. He didn’t know an awful lot about existentialism, but his decision felt as though it had come to him as a product of the existentialist process: a long train of gloomy thoughts, all of which led to the same bleak conclusion. And if he ignored it, who would he be? Nobody. Nothing.
‘I’m not going to sleep with you,’ he said.
‘Why on earth not?’
‘I have my reasons.’
‘Could you tell me some of them?’
‘It wouldn’t help.’
‘I think you owe me that much. I took you to the theatre, I’ve offered scrambled eggs … The very least a girl can expect is sex.’
Dennis sighed heavily.
‘I don’t know how many actors you’ve slept with …’
It was four – Johnny Foreigner, Clive, and two very disappointing flings, and she wasn’t even sure about one of those. He’d said he was an actor, but she didn’t recognize him and he was very vague about what work he’d done. She decided to leave him out altogether.
‘Three.’
‘All right, three. But I’m not an actor.’
‘Thank God.’
‘Well, I don’t want to be compared to one.’
‘Why on earth would I compare you to an actor?’
‘Because actors are all you have to go by.’
‘Don’t you want to sleep with me?’
‘That’s not the issue. It’s not about wanting.’
‘Sex isn’t? Gosh. What is it about, then?’
Dennis didn’t say anything, and then she got it.
‘Oh, Dennis.’
‘What?’
‘Listen. First of all, I think you’re a very good-looking man. And all right, you’re not handsome in a boring actory way, but I’m sick of that. You have beautiful, sexy eyes, and I get quite wobbly when you look at me. Did you know that?’
Dennis shook his head, astounded, and Sophie laughed. Of course he didn’t know that.
‘And anyway. Just because a man is good-looking in a boring actory way, it doesn’t mean he’s good at anything else.’
‘You’re very kind,’ he said. ‘But I would prefer my function in your life to be, I don’t know … something else.’
‘It didn’t feel like that was what you would prefer. Just now.’
‘I cannot be held responsible for the conduct of an independent organ.’
He was, as far as she could tell, serious, so she had to laugh.
‘I didn’t mean to sound pompous,’ he said. ‘But I’m not usually called to account in that way.’
‘Has there been anybody since Edith?’
‘No,’ he said. And then, ‘Not really.’
‘What does that mean? If you don’t mind my asking?’
‘I said “not really” because I thought it might make me sound more interesting.’
‘So … Maybe all this is because it’s been a while?’
‘No. It’s because everybody finds you attractive.’
‘Even if that were true, you’re the only one here.’
‘Can we just go to sleep?’
‘If that’s what you want.’
They arranged themselves on the bed and she nestled herself into him. She could do it, she thought, despite the frustration. It was late and she’d been drinking champagne. And the next thing she knew, it was five o’clock in the morning, and she desperately needed a pee. It was clear to her that Dennis hadn’t even closed his eyes.
‘This is no good,’ she said when she came back from the bathroom.
‘It probably won’t happen again,’ said Dennis. ‘Friends don’t often spend the night in the same bed.’
‘What if I wanted to marry you?’
‘Separate bedrooms.’
He was beginning to wonder whether he had strayed from the existentialist path.
‘So there’s nothing I could do that might convince you?’
Was it only yesterday that Sophie had asked him whether he was happy with nudity and his heart had nearly burst with joy? And yet that question had referred only to a night in the theatre. He wouldn’t even have been able to imagine the circumstances in which she might have posed the most recent question, and he certainly wouldn’t have been able to explain his answer.
‘I don’t think so.’
Oh, this was ridiculous. Whatever else existentialists might be, they never struck him as particularly cheerful coves, and he was beginning to see why.
‘I suppose there might be something,’ he said.
Sophie hadn’t pulled the curtains in the bedroom, and their faces were occasionally lit by the headlights of the passing traffic. He could see that there was an expression of mild alarm on her face.
‘It’s nothing … out of the ordinary,’ he said. ‘I want to know that if it happens, it will happen again. And not just once, but a few times. I don’t want to be judged on a … an isolated incident.’
Sophie laughed, and Dennis looked hurt.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It just sounded funny.’
‘Why?’