THE D WORD AFTER SO LONG TOGETHER, IS THIS THE END?

As the estate agent arrives, Anon is startled by a sudden invitation from James

The estate agent arrived on the stroke of four, as threatened. James and I had been out for lunch, and I’d run up and down decluttering surfaces and stuffing flowers into vases. “Why are you helping Richard dust you out of your own home like a spider?” James asked, as I wiped down the worktops for a third time.

“Because,” I said, “I want to get the maximum price for the cottage. If we’re going to split it, I’ll have to buy a tiny flat in London and I need all the cash I can get.”

James looked up. “I’m getting a place, move in with me, and live rent-free.”

I froze, with a damp J-cloth clutched romantically in my hand. Things were going wonderfully well, but we’d spent less than three full days in each other’s company over the past 20 years. We hadn’t lived together at university, we’d just visited each other’s crumbling houses. The thought of moving in with him seemed surreal, as if a stranger had stopped me on the street and proposed.

“I don’t think...” I began, as he said: “You don’t look too thrilled by that idea.”

“Well, it’s still early days,” I said. My heart was thudding unpleasantly, I dreaded confrontation and I hadn’t expected our relationship to progress beyond weekend visits for months. Richard and I hadn’t even started divorce proceedings.

“If things go well, that would be lovely...” I trailed off feebly, as though he’d invited me to a flower show.

He looked down. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m getting carried away. Forget I said it.”

That was when the bell rang and the estate agent, a young woman in a black suit with reflective glasses that made her look like a glittering insect, stepped in.

“You must be Richard,” she said, extending a hand to James.

“No, I’m just a friend,” he said. I wondered if that was pointed. All my excitement about the new relationship was hissing away, leaving me limp and tired, wishing I was alone.

“Shall we start at the top?” she asked. I had a sudden vision of the tumbled duvet, the matching glasses of water on the bedside tables. I wondered if Richard had filled her in. (“The reason for selling?” “My wife has moved another man into the marital bed...”)

“I’ll just nip to the loo. Tea?” I said. “No thanks. I’ll just wait here,” she replied. James rolled his eyes behind her back and I felt marginally better. I ran up, shook out the bedding, opened the windows and tipped James’s glass of water away. “I don’t think you’ll have much problem selling,” she added, when we’d finished. “But I’m afraid I’m not clear who the vendor is. Is it you or your husband? Who should I contact?”

I sighed. “Both of us,” I said. “It’s a joint sale.”

She nodded, and raised a hand to James. After she’d gone, he stood up and came over to me.

“Look,” he said. “I have to ask. Do you think you’re really ready for a relationship?”

The truth was, I really didn’t know.

Next week: The house is for sale – is she ready for James?