‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know — the media? You could try for some presenting jobs again?’ Dexter groaned. ‘Okay, something behind the scenes? Producer or director or something.’ Dexter winced. ‘Or, or photography! You used to talk about photography all the time. Or food, you could, I don’t know, do something with food. And if none of that works, you’ve always got that low two-two in Anthropology to fall back on.’ She patted the back of his hand for emphasis: ‘People will always need anthropologists.’ He smiled, then remembered he shouldn’t be smiling. ‘You’re a healthy, capable, financially stable moderately attractive father in your mid-to-late-thirties. You’re. . alright, Dex. You just need to get your confidence back, that’s all.’

He sighed and looked out at the canal. ‘So was that your pep-talk then?’

‘That was it. What did you think?’

‘I still want to jump in the canal.’

‘Maybe we should move on then.’ She laid money on the table. ‘My flat’s about twenty minutes away in that direction. We can walk, or get a taxi. .’ She went to stand, but Dexter didn’t move.

‘The worst of it is I really miss Jasmine.’ Emma sat again. ‘I mean it’s sending me insane and it’s not even like I was a good dador anything.’

‘Oh come on—’

‘I wasn’t, Em, I was useless, completely. I resented it, I didn’t want to be there. All the time we were pretending we were this perfect family, I always thought this is a mistake, this isn’t for me. I used to think wouldn’t it be great to sleepagain, to go away for the weekend, or just go out, stay up late, have fun. To be free, to have no responsibilities. And now I’ve got all of that back, and all I do is sit with my stuff still in cardboard boxes and miss my daughter.’

‘But you still see her.’

‘Once a fortnight, one lousy overnight stay.’

‘But you could see her more, you could ask for more time—’

‘And I would! But even now you can see the fear in her eyes when her mum drives off; don’t leave me here with this weird sad freak! I buy her all these presents, it’s pathetic, there’s a great pile of them every time she arrives, it’s like Christmas morning every time, because if we’re not opening presents I don’t know what to do with her. If we’re not opening presents she’ll just start crying and asking for Mummy, by which she means Mummy and that bastard Callum, and I don’t even know what to buy her, because every time I see her she’s different. You turn your back for one week, ten days and everything’s changed! I mean, she started walkingfor Christ’s sake and I didn’t see that happen! How can that be? How can I be missing that? I mean, isn’t that myjob? I haven’t even done anything wrong, and all of a sudden. .’ His voice quavered for a moment, and quickly he changed tone, grabbing onto anger: ‘. . and meanwhile of course that fucker Callum’s there with them, in his big mansion in Muswell fucking Hill. .’

But the momentum of his rage wasn’t enough to prevent his voice cracking. Abruptly he stopped speaking, pressed his hands either side of his nose and opened his eyes wide, as if trying to suppress a sneeze.

‘You okay?’ she said, her hand on his knee.

He nodded. ‘I’m not going to be like this all weekend, I promise.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘Well I mind. It’s. . demeaning.’ He stood abruptly, and picked up his bag. ‘Please, Em. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me something. Tell me about you.’

They walked the length of the canal, skirting the edge of the Place de la R'epublique then turning east along rue du Faubourg St-Denis as she talked about her work. ‘The second one’s a sequel. That’s how imaginative I am. I’m about three-quarters of the way through. Julie Criscoll goes on this school trip to Paris and falls for this French boy and has all sorts of adventures, surprise suprise. That’s my excuse for being here. “Research purposes”.’

‘And the first one’s doing well?’

‘So I’m told. Well enough for them to pay for two more.’

‘Really? Two more sequels?’

‘’fraid so. Julie Criscoll’s what they call a franchise. That’s where the money’s at apparently. Got to have a franchise! And we’re talking to TV people. For a show. An animated kid’s show, based on my illustrations.’

‘You’re kidding me!’

‘I know. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m working in “the media”! I’m the Associate Producer!’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing at all. I mean I don’t mind. I love it. But I’d like to write a grown-up book one day. That’s what I always wanted to write, this great, angry state-of-thenation novel, something wild and timeless that reveals the human soul, not a lot of silly stuff about snogging French boys at discos.’

‘It’s not just about that though, is it?’

‘Maybe not. And maybe that’s just what happens; you start out wanting to change the world through language, and end up thinking it’s enough to tell a few good jokes. God, listen to me. My life in art!’

He nudged her.

‘What?’

‘I’m pleased for you, that’s all.’ His arm curled round her shoulders and squeezed. ‘An author. A proper author. You’re finally doing what you always wanted to do.’ They walked like this, a little self-consciously and awkwardly, the bag in the other hand banging against his leg, until the discomfort became too much and he took his arm away.