On Sunday, Adam sat in Mary's living room pretending to own a furniture company.
He was not good at it.
“That's lovely,” he said for the third time.
Mary lowered the printout. “You can't just keep saying that.”
“It is lovely.”
“I need you to be the difficult partner.”
“Right.” He folded his arms. “I hate it.”
She stared at him.
“Too difficult?”
Mary put the paper down and laughed, more from fatigue than amusement. She had spent most of the weekend changing the presentation. The actual designs had barely changed at all. She could feel how that might become a problem tomorrow.
“I'm doing this wrong,” she said.
“You haven't even started.”
“I've started six times.”
Adam uncrossed his arms. He was dressed for the hall gathering, in a dark shirt and clean trousers, while she was wearing the same jumper she'd put on yesterday. At four o'clock he'd arrived with half an hour to spare. It was now a little after five. She had already asked for more time than she meant to.
“Let me explain what I need,” she said.
He pulled his chair closer.
“They've told me they want stronger. I can make it louder. Bigger letters, darker colours. But then the pictures get lost, and what they sell is the furniture. I need to show them why what I've done works.”
“That made sense.”
“I didn't say it like that the first time.”
“No. You said something about a consistent visual language.”
“Which I would now like to throw out of the window.”
He took her page of notes and read the questions.
“Do they want to look more expensive?”
“Maybe. They sell perfectly good furniture to people who don't have a huge budget. They could make that sound like something to be proud of.”
“Then tell them.”
She looked at the screen, then reached across him for the keyboard. He moved his chair back and let her change the opening slide.
“Now be the customer,” she said.
“Am I allowed to like it?”
“Eventually.”
They tried again. This time he interrupted halfway through and asked why she hadn't used the gold lettering from one of the client's examples. Her first answer was that it didn't suit them. He looked unconvinced.
“What's wrong with gold?”
She wanted to say plenty. Instead, she explained that on a small printed label it would look muddy unless they paid for a different finish, and that on the website it would be flat yellow. She drew a rough example on a scrap of paper.
“Oh,” he said. “I'd have listened to that.”
Mary crossed out another line in her notes.
Adam got up to stretch. His phone lit up on the table. He checked it and looked at the time.
“You need to go,” she said.
“June wants to know whether I'm eating there.”
He picked up his keys from beside the laptop. Mary moved her chair so he could pass.
“Tell her yes. I can carry on.”
He looked at the screen, where she had just moved two slides into the wrong order. Mary moved them back and wished he hadn't seen.
“I could stay.”
She wanted that so much she answered too quickly. “Would you?”
Then she sat back.
“You said you wanted to go.”
“I did.”
“I don't want to make you miss useful work contacts.”
He looked towards the door, then set the keys down and picked up the phone. “I can talk to people another time.”
Mary watched him call June. He said he was sorry, he wouldn't be coming after all. He knew she'd counted him, and he should have said sooner. Then he listened for a moment and said no, he was fine, he'd see her at the hall in the week.
When he put the phone down, Mary let herself believe she had the evening.
“Thank you.”
“Now can I be the customer who likes gold?”
“You're a demanding man.”
“I'm bringing an important perspective.”
They worked until the light changed outside the window. It wasn't all laughter. Adam stopped paying attention during her explanation of the website pages, and she had to begin again. She got defensive about a headline he'd said was confusing. They both needed food.
She went to the kitchen and ate a piece of bread standing by the sink. He followed her.
“I wasn't trying to pick holes in everything.”
“I asked you to.”
“Then why did you look like you wanted to hit me with the paper?”
She closed her eyes. “Because I liked that headline.”
He leaned against the doorframe, smiling a little. “I couldn't tell what it meant.”
“I know.”
“Keep it for something else.”
“That's what people tell children when their drawing doesn't get chosen.”
“Would you like it on the fridge?”
She laughed, finally, and tore the bread in half for him.
They ordered food. While they waited, Mary replaced the headline with something clearer, then stopped explaining and asked him to tell her what he thought the whole pitch was saying. His answer showed her where she had skipped a step. She added one sentence.
By eight, she could go from the first slide to the last without apologising for any of it. Adam sat in the customer's chair, holding the last page.
“I think we should go ahead,” he said.
“You'll have to discuss it with your partner.”
“He's come round. He's very impressed.”
She crossed the small gap between them and sat on his lap. He set the printout down before putting his arms round her.
“I liked you more when you agreed with everything,” she said.
“No, you didn't.”
She kissed him instead of answering. His shirt was creased where he'd been leaning forward over the table. She smoothed it with her palm and knew she would remember him sitting there, patiently taking the same question in a different order.
Later, when the food had been eaten and the pages were packed into her bag, he stayed. She wanted him to. There was room beside her in the bed, and when she switched off the light he drew her close without reaching for the phone on the bedside table.
In the morning she woke before him. She lay still for a minute, listening to his breathing. Then she got up quietly and put the kettle on.
Her meeting was at ten. She knew what she was going to say.