And then he laughed.
Loudly. Deliberately loudly — four or five people near us turned round, which was the point of the volume.
I heard myself say it before I had decided to say anything.
"What's funny?"
He pointed at Abel. Actually pointed, with a finger, in a room full of people.
"Him? Your boyfriend?"
And he laughed again, and looked round to see who was listening, which is a thing he does and which I had forgotten about.
"I don't believe that for a second. No one would ever date you."
Eight words, at about the volume you use to call across a car park.
And then, turning to Abel, in exactly the same voice: "Especially somebody like you."
Four or five people laughed. I know which four.
My stomach went. The whole thing, in about one second, exactly the way it used to in that kitchen.
He was not finished.
