Minnie stood up and lifted her handbag from the chair.
‘You really think you’re going to do better than me?’ Greg snarled. ‘Unemployed, thirty, and living at home – you aren’t exactly catch of the century you know, Minnie.’
‘Now that was uncalled for,’ said Clive, putting down his plate of toast and laying a reassuring hand on Minnie’s arm.
‘It’s OK, Clive,’ said Minnie, combing a shaking hand through her hair.
‘No, I won’t have you end it like this. You’re both good people – people break up, they move on; it doesn’t mean you can’t stay friends and it doesn’t mean you have to leave things on a bad note. Come on, sit down.’
Clive pointed to two chairs at the kitchen table. Minnie looked at Greg, who crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked firmly up at the ceiling. She glanced out of the window. It was pouring with rain outside. Part of her just wanted to leave, to call an end to this horrible scene, but another part of her didn’t want to end things like this. This side to Greg – she knew it wasn’t who he was.
‘Sit down,’ Clive said firmly, pulling both chairs out from the table. They slunk into the chairs like chastised children. ‘Right,’ said Clive, taking the third seat between them. ‘How long have you been together? Six months? Now, you’ve decided you don’t want to be together any more.’
‘She’s decided,’ said Greg, nostrils flaring.
‘Whoever initiated it, it’s happening. But you saw something in each other once, so before anyone goes anywhere, I want you both to say three positive things about the other person, and then share a favourite memory of your time together.’ Greg let out an irritated ‘humpff’ sound.
‘It will save you months of bitterness, trust me,’ said Clive.
Minnie looked across at Clive’s hopeful round face, then she looked back at Greg. She knew this spiteful petulance was simply Greg’sway of masking a hurt. She still cared for him enough to feel that if she could temper that hurt, she should.
‘Well,’ said Minnie softly, ‘I can go first.’
Greg glared at her, arms still folded tightly across his chest, nostrils wide as caves, mouth pinched into a thin pout.
‘I always admired your passion for your work. You’re a really good writer,’ said Minnie.
‘Excellent!’ said Clive clapping his hands together. ‘Greg, you go.’
Greg paused. He looked at Minnie and his eyes softened slightly.
‘Go on Greg,’ Clive said gently.
‘You’re a pretty good cook, I guess,’ said Greg, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
‘Great. Minnie?’ said Clive.
‘You used to make me laugh with your silly jokes. You’re good company, you know how to tell a story and make everyone listen.’
Greg jutted out his chin and gave the smallest nod of acknowledgement.
‘Greg? What else?’
‘Well I suppose we always had good bedroom … stuff. You’re very imaginative in the—’
‘OK, we don’t need any more details there. As mentioned previously, the walls in this flat are not that substantial,’ Clive blushed.
‘You always appreciated my opinion on your writing and I liked that. It made me feel valued,’ said Minnie, speaking more assertively now.
She watched Greg’s defensive veneer melt. He turned to face her and reached a hand across the table.
‘You make me want to be funny,’ he said gently. ‘You have the most beautiful laugh. It’s so satisfying to be the one to unleash it.’
Clive was looking back and forth between then. He took a loud bite of his toast and munched away noisily.
‘OK, favourite memory now – Minnie,’ Clive said spraying crumbs across the table.
‘I’ll always remember the time we went to Brighton for that column you were writing and we swam in the sea and went skinny-dipping and you said you loved my feet, even though I hate my feet.’