Understanding

We meet in a bar across the river. He buys me a drink, looking tired but as handsome as ever. We sit and talk about him, talk about me, talk about him and me, and then we talk about her. I tell him that it was no loss to me, that it always seemed that she was doing the things that nice people do, rather than just being nice. There was something calculated about her behaviour, a lack of immediacy, as if all actions were measured and weighed for maximum return on investment. I hesitate, thinking maybe I’ve been unkind, but he reassures me, agrees, ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ he says, ‘She was the worst combination; completely lacking in self-awareness and extremely manipulative.’

The relief of talking to someone who understands warms me, makes me feel a little better about the bitter barb of betrayal that still sits close to my heart. We order another round.