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piece of string?” he says.
    â€œTom!”
I say, plaintively.
    â€œHow long will the gîte thing take?” he says. “How long a mission will I get offered? It all depends, doesn’t it? How should I know?”
    I cough and stand, and start to move towards the kitchen, and then I pause and turn back. “Tom,” I say, chewing the side of my mouth. “Can we turn the TV off for a minute?”
    He glances up at me. “Why?” he says.
    â€œWe have to talk.”
    He reaches for the remote and somewhat theatrically clicks off the TV. “What’s up?” he asks, his tone vaguely mocking.
    I move back to the sofa and sit sideways, half facing him. “I’m a bit surprised,” I say. “I mean, that you’re thinking about going back already. We haven’t discussed this
at all.”
    Tom shakes his head and sighs. “I knew you were going to have an argument with me today,” he says. “It’s been brewing all day.”
    I frown. “I haven’t
been
here all day,” I protest. But I wonder all the same if it’s true, if he isn’t somehow right. It
could
be my hangover making me play up, but then it’s hard to tell. When your perception gets skewered by drugs you’re always the last to know.
    â€œWhatever,” Tom says, before continuing in acalmer tone of voice. “What I mean is, we can
argue
about this, or …
not
. But I can’t really see any point in me staying here if there’s no gîte project happening, can you?”
    â€œI’m not sure really,” I say, trying to work out my thoughts, and trying to keep an eye on them for wanton negativity at the same time. “I mean, I suppose I just thought that this was
where we lived
now.”
    Tom frowns at me so I continue, “I thought the gîte was about us being together, not the other way around. I didn’t realise we were together just so we could do the gîte.”
    Tom tuts, and turns towards me and takes my hand. “Hey,” he says. “Don’t make this about
us
. I just think it’s a good idea for me to go and earn some money,” he says. “You can see the sense in that, surely?”
    I nod. “Yeah,” I say vaguely. “I mean, I know that makes sense; I know there’s a certain logic to it…”
    â€œSo?” Tom asks.
    â€œWell, I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, I understand the need for change, but if you need more nightlife, well, that’s fixable
here
. This is
where we live
. Or it’s supposed to be. And we’re not exactly broke, not with my dole and your…”
    â€œWell, this is
where we live
because we’re buying a gîte,” Tom says.
    I nod. “So what happens if it falls through then?”
    â€œWhat, the whole thing? Completely?”
    â€œYeah,” I say. “What happens if, say, Chantal
can’t
sell us the gîte? If the whole project crashes and burns.”
    Tom shrugs. “We look for another property?” He says this in a tone of voice that implies that the answer is obvious.
    I nod. “OK, but
who
does? Will
you
be here to do that?”
    Tom shakes his head. “Hell Mark, Idon’t know. I suppose you could look and then we could make the final choice together.”
    I nod.
    â€œI don’t really see what the prob…”
    â€œThe problem
is …
” I interrupt quietly, still working it out, “that unless there’s a gîte, we aren’t together.”
    Tom frowns, first nods, and then shakes his head. “And?” he says.
    â€œSo you’re being here wouldn’t seem to be about me really, or
us
, but about the gîte.”
    Tom laughs sourly.
    â€œWhat?” I ask genuinely confused.
    â€œWhy does everything have to be about
you?”
He shakes his head apparently in dismay.
    I sigh. I grind my teeth a little, and then when I’m sure I can keep