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course if you wanted
me
to write to him, I would. I just didn’t think you had anything in common with him anymore.
    No, indeed, you’re right. He probably wouldn’t remember me. And too much water under the bridge, really. But that wasn’t what I was talking about. I was saying that someone should tell Maggie for her own good that this kind of thing can’t go on any longer. It’s not fair, not on herself, not on anyone.
    No, Angela, I
know
what you’re going to say, that we should never try to come between lovers, no matter how star-crossed they are. Look, I know there’s a point in that. I know that you often end up with egg on your face when it turns out to be a long-lasting affair. But be honest, you were glad when we turned you against Eric, that con man who was going to take your money, weren’t you?
    What do you mean it was only money? You had
worked
for it. Saved it.
    No, that’s ludicrous, Ange. You know it is. He couldn’t have loved you. You couldn’t have been the only one he didn’t con. You were so well out of it.
    It’s not like you to look back and regret. Not like you at all.
    And going back to that time—at least you’ll admit that Maggie was lucky we pointed out that her fellow Liam had so many other girls. Look at the fool she would have made of herself and she had more things to worry about with her sister with asthma, her mother not well, and her father drinking.
    Oh, come
on,
Angela, how could that Liam have helped her with any of those problems? If he had been around he would have made things much, much worse.
    But now it’s really serious that someone says something.
    This guy Hanif. I mean, Angela, he’s an African. An Algerian. From Africa.
    Oh, I know Maggie says he’s a French citizen but it won’t work.
    Well it
can’t
work. I mean, marriage is hard enough anyway. Look at all the disasters we see around us and that’s even when they’re from the same culture and background and race and religion.
    I mean, what does Maggie know about Hanif’s life before he came here? He could have lived in a hut in the desert.
    No stop it, Angela. Stop telling me he’s from Marseilles. That’s not what it’s about. He can’t go in and live with Maggie in her house with her father poised to go back on the drink, with her sister whooping with asthma, with poor, daft Maggie going to see
my
mother, writing letters to
your
brother. It’s just ludicrous.
    I know it’s hard to do because we all like Maggie so much and we go back such a long way, but honestly, someone should tell her before she starts organizing a wedding.
    She
has
organized a wedding? I don’t believe you!
    You’re serious? When?
    But that’s only six weeks away. It can’t be!
    Angela?
    Angela, have you been invited?
    And are you going?
    I see.
    I see.
    Okay. I haven’t been invited, but I suppose you know that.
    What do you mean, when did I see her last? She’s our friend, for God’s sake. I’m
always
seeing her. I saw her that time we went to the smart hotel where she took the sugar packets and paper napkins. And then I saw her when we went to that weepy film and had a pizza afterwards.
    No, of course I haven’t been to Maggie’s house.
    Angela, listen to me. Who could go to that house with the chance that her father might come reeling in and the sister wheezing away in the corner?
    You do. I see.
    Okay, I know she asked me, but honestly…
    And so that’s true, I haven’t sat down and talked properly to Hanif. But what’s the point? What would there be to say?
    Oh. You do? You have? Good, good.
    No, I mean it. I’m
glad
you like him. And that you’ve found plenty to talk to him about.
    No, that’s nice, really it is. It’s just that…Oh, come on, Angela, you and I, we don’t have to talk politically correct to each other. It’s just that no matter how nice he is, he’s an immigrant. He’ll bring Maggie down. Whatever hope she had before, she’ll have none now. And suppose she has children? Well, I