know. My girlfriend and I met her when we went to dinner once at my girlfriend’s best friend’s. My girlfriend’s best friend always invites a couple of other people along whenever we go to his for dinner. I used to be a bit slighted by this but over time I came not to mind, almost to enjoy it. If nothing else it meant that myself, my girlfriend and her best friend didn’t dwell on our favourite subject: how our professional success was not commensurate with our abundant talents. The people my girlfriend’s best friend invites over are always either Brazilian, or Italian, or Israeli, or German – as was the case with Hannah. I don’t think he ever invited someone English along. Which is fine by me. I’m not English, neither’s my girlfriend, neither’s my girlfriend’s best friend for that matter. Whenever we’re at his place for dinner it feels like a bunch of exiles together in a foreign land – although of course it’s nothing of the sort. We’d be exiles anywhere. When we first met Hannah I think we probably thought ‘uh-oh’. The women who are invited to these dinners are usually all the same: stern, prickly types who look as if they’re in transit from one argument to another. Hannah certainly seemed to fit the bill at first, but as the evening progressed my opinion of her changed a little.
“Hannah’s not too bad”, said my girlfriend in the taxi on the
“No”, I said, “She’s not”.
The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com