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‘Hi,
Chrissy
,’ replied Paula.

Early on, we had settled on The Brooklyn Café in
Shawlands
as a suitable lunchtime rendezvous spot. It was tucked round a corner from the main road so there was little chance of anyone we knew passing (though we always sat at the back away from the window, just in case), and they did a decent lasagne. We had become regulars.

‘Hi, guys,’
Marita
the waitress said. ‘What could I give you this day?’

Paula looked at me and I nodded. ‘Two lattes and two veggie lasagnes please,
Marita
.’

‘We
can
sell you other things, you know,’
Marita
said with a smile.

‘And I swear we’ll try them one day,’ I said.

‘That I doubt extremely,’
Marita
said. She’d moved to
Scotland
from
Poland
only a few months earlier, but her English was improving by the day. Paula had let slip what she did for a living on one of our early visits, and now
Marita
made a point of serving us whenever she could, in the hope she might pick up some tips. ‘Hey Paula,’ she said. ‘I have a new verb, listen to me: I fornicate; you fornicate; we fornicate; they fornicate;
everyone
fornicates. Would you like to fornicate with me? Hey?’

Paula smiled calmly while I did actually bite my tongue. ‘That’s excellent,
Marita
,’ Paula said. ‘Did they teach you that at your night-class?’

‘No, no. Chef Gary told me. Now I can go to the parties without feeling like the
glupiec
. I mean
foolish
, sorry.’

‘I need to go to the toilet,’ I said. I managed to hold the laugh in until I was halfway up the stairs.

Paula was alone with our coffees when I returned. I heard someone scream from behind the kitchen door as I retook my seat. It was a man screaming, in much the way you would if, for example, an irate Polish waitress had just stamped on your foot with her heel.

‘He told her it was another word for dancing,’ Paula said.

‘And you set her straight?’

‘Oh yes. She’s going to a party tonight. With Gary and his mates, funnily enough.’

‘Prick,’ I said, shaking my head.

‘It’s not funny, Jim.’

‘I know, sorry.’ She even looked cute when she was shouting at me. ‘Anyway, how’s you?’

‘Yeah, okay.’

‘You sure?’

‘I got a letter from the Uni. this morning. They want me to go in for an induction next month.’

‘Is that a bad thing?’

‘No, it’s just brought it into focus. I am actually here and I am actually staying here.’

‘Which is something you already knew,’ I said carefully.

‘I know
that
. I just …
fuck
…’ She trailed off and looked down at the table.

I was getting scared now. She usually said ‘feck’.

‘Are you going to chuck me?’ I flashed back to Terry’s theory that I might not be the hero of this story, and put my coffee down before I jerked its contents all over the place.

Paula looked at me like I was an imbecile, making me feel much better.

‘No, I’m not going to
chuck you
, you moron. Not everything’s about you, you know.’
Praise be to Jesus and all his lieutenants!

With that established, I felt able to proceed calmly. ‘So what’s up?’

Paula shook her head (my life was full of people shaking their heads at me, for some reason). ‘
Germany
, the school, it was a big dream for me. It was supposed to be my way of proving to the world I had what it took, that I could be a grown-up. Now what have I got?’

A couple of possible answers occurred to me. I opted for the least potentially humiliating first. ‘A well paid job at a respected university?’

‘Yeah, and I’ll be giving half my wages to some bank in Germany for the next twenty-odd years.’

There was an element of exaggeration there I felt, but I understood her point. Time for answer number two. ‘You’ve got me.’

‘I know, I
know
, Jim.’ She reached over the table and held my, well, have a guess - hint: it rhymes with sand and isn’t as erogenous as people seem to think. ‘I love that, I really do. But I need to sort my life out. I want to do it with you, but I still need to do it.’

‘So we’ll do it together. Let me help you.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t have a clue, but I’m happy to work on it.’

She laughed. ‘Just make sure you leave room on the couch for me when I come home from my shitty well-paid job at that respected university.’

‘It’s a deal. I’ll even make you mince and potatoes.’

‘Don’t! You’ve never experienced frustration until you’ve tried to explain mince and tatties to your German mother-in-law.’

‘It’s a cultural thing, those Europeans will never understand.’

‘They’re basically Philistines when it comes to food. I don’t think I saw a deep-fat fryer the whole time I was there.’

‘Point proven.’

‘Two vegetable lasagne,’
Marita
said, placing two huge plates in front of us. ‘And Paula, Chef
Gary
has now offered apologies. No dancing for him tonight, never mind the fornicating.’

‘Good for you.’

We ate in comfortable gluttony for a while.

‘Are you really worried about starting work?’ I asked after a while.

‘Not about the actual work; I still love teaching. It’ll be an adjustment teaching English speakers German again instead of the other way round, but that’s okay. It’s just, for five years I’ve been running things my way. I, well
we
, were in charge, we made all the decisions, hired the staff, paid all the bills, or not, as the case may be. It’ll be weird going back to being an employee.’

‘Less pressure, though.’

‘I kind of liked the pressure.’

‘Because it made you feel important?’

Paula gave me a look. ‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘Well, maybe a bit. I felt like I’d achieved something, that’s all. Like I could hold my head up.’

‘You can’t now? It’s not like you’re going back to carrying plates and pulling pints, now
that
might be embarrassing.’

‘I’m also living at my mum’s and can barely afford this lasagne.’

‘It’s on me,’ I said.

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I know, but that’s all temporary. Once things are sorted with Ingo and we can start looking for a flat you’ll feel better. I’m feeling pretty optimistic about the future, by the way.’

‘I am too.’ She smiled, but without much humour. ‘It’s the present I’m worried about.’

‘You sound like Terry.’

‘Don’t tell me all this sneaking about isn’t doing your nut in. I hate lying to everyone all the time. You must, too.’

‘It’s mainly just my parents I have to lie to, so no, not really. If you’re asking whether I’m eager for this particular phase of our relationship to pass, then
yes
, duh! It’s not because I want to stop lying, though; it’s because I want to
start
doing other things.’

This smile seemed more genuine. ‘That certainly adds to the frustration. But it doesn’t bother you, lying to your mum and dad? I hate it.’

I shrugged. ‘They seem to be the only ones I can get away with it with, now. Besides, it’s part of the deal with parents, I’m used to it.’

‘That’s sad, Jim. We all did it when we were teenagers, but you’re in your thirties. Doesn’t it seem a bit daft that you still think it’s okay to hide everything from them? I’m cracking up, not being able to talk to mine about what’s happening.’

I wasn’t following her. ‘But Andrea and Sammy know. You can talk to them; and me, obviously.’

‘Andrea and Sammy are great, but they’re not my mum or dad. My mum used to phone me every night when I first moved to
London
, to make sure I was okay. She understood you can do what’s right for you and still be crapping yourself about it. And my dad’s the same. It was him who made me feel strong enough to go in the first place, and he was the same when it came to moving to
Germany
.
London
was big, marriage and
Germany
were bigger, but this all feels like the hugest pile of shite I’ve ever been in, and I can’t tell them.’

Had Paula just referred to getting back together with me as a huge pile of shite? I chose to assume it was the situation with Ingo she was talking about.

‘Listen, if it’s so hard, why don’t you tell them about leaving Ingo? You don’t have to say anything about me yet, but what’s so bad about admitting to them your marriage isn’t working out?’

‘They’re Irish Catholics, what do you think?’ Her voice was getting louder by increments.

‘I’m fairly certain they’ll work it out for themselves when Ingo doesn’t come over ever and you move in with me,’ I said. ‘Besides, I’m not sure about your mum but I get the impression your dad isn’t exactly a bible-bashing Papist.’

Paula sighed. ‘It feels wrong, until I speak to Ingo.’

‘You are sure about it being over, aren’t you?’

‘Feck’s sake Jim,
yes
I’m sure. I love
you
. That doesn’t mean any of this is easy. Sorry if that bruises your ego, but it’s the truth. No offence, but you’re coming into this with feck-all baggage. It’s different for me.’

‘Joe Jackson,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘
It’s different for girls
. Brilliant song.’

‘Feck off! I’m being serious here.’

‘I understand. You’re also shouting at me when I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve it.’

‘Have I been shouting?’

‘Yes, you have.
Marita’s
been looking concerned.’

Paula breathed deeply a couple of times and smiled. ‘Sorry, must have needed a wee rant. You may have noticed I’m not quite as carefree as I used to be.’

I laughed. ‘No idea what you’re talking about. You were always a psycho. You should think about maybe telling your mum and dad the truth, though. Or at least some of it.’

‘Yeah, well, so should you. About some things, at least.’

‘Perhaps,’ I conceded. ‘More coffee?’

Paula nodded and I looked around for
Marita
, but she must have been in the kitchen, possibly re-emphasising to Chef Gary how little chance he had of dancing with her that night. Rather than wait I got up and went to the counter.

There were a couple of people in front of me and it was a few minutes before I got to place the order. As I turned back, I saw someone was sitting at the table with Paula. The reddish-brown hair was familiar, but it was the look of horror on Paula’s face over the newcomer’s shoulder that confirmed it was Kate. I didn’t have a clue what to do. Paula was telling me
something
with her eyes as she tried to maintain a polite, if faltering, smile, but I’d never been blessed with her gift for languages.