‘I was just curious,’ I tell him lightly. ‘It’s really admirable,’ I add, meaning it.
‘If I don’t do it now, when will I?’ he asks – for my benefit, or his? ‘I need to do it before I get sucked into private practice, and the money’s too good to give up.’
‘And before you’ve got kids in private school and a mortgage on a five-bed in prime Surrey commuter belt.’
I cringe at how asinine I sound.
‘I’m not sure I’m the settling-down type,’ he says.
Someone will convince you otherwise, I want to tell him. I get a flash of his future five years from now. Walking to his assigned parking space in the private wing of a London hospital. Tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up, jacket flung on the back seat of a brand-new Audi. A smooth, traffic-free drive back to Commuter-Belt-Ville, beautiful blonde wife in yoga pants, figure still perfect after two children, greeting him on the circular drive with a Whisky Sour and the promise of athletic sex once the nanny has put the kids to bed.
A pang of loss catches me in the throat. Mark claims he’s not cut out for marriage, but with such a prize on offer, there’s a sharp, determined woman out there who’ll talk him round; a woman who’d rather cut off her arm than let Mark slip through her fingers.
‘I should get going,’ I say, trying to sound casual.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ he asks. ‘I must sound like a tedious twat, banging on about my charity work that I don’t like talking about, but that somehow, everyone is aware of.’
I smile. ‘You’re not a tedious twat. I just need to get home at a decent hour so no one asks what I’ve been up to.’
I get up, and the rocking motion makes the bed creak. Then there’s a crack and a thud and the bed legs give way.
We both start laughing.
‘Oh my God, you’re going to be insufferable,’ I tell him.
‘I’m really not,’ he protests. ‘Because how the fuck am I going to explain the broken bed to Yan?’
Once I’ve located my clothes – finding them is like an Easter egg hunt because they’re scattered all over the flat – he insists on walking me to my car.
‘It’s literally a few feet down the road,’ I say, as we hit the pavement.
‘I fancy the fresh air.’
‘Well, I hope you enjoyed it because here we are.’ I beep the car open and the lights flash twice.
He leans against the driver door and pulls me to him. ‘I’m driving to Leeds tomorrow to check on my flat before I hand over the keys to the lettings agent.’
‘You’re renting it out?’
And not selling up, I want to ask. Does that mean he imagines coming back?
‘Yeah, I signed a two-year lease. I’ll rethink it after that. It’s a terrible time to sell.’ Of course, there are practical reasons for keeping it. ‘Theo’s coming up the day after so we can do some stag-lite partying with old uni friends.’
‘Sounds busy.’
He nods. ‘I’m not back in London until the night before the wedding. Theo and I are staying at the venue the night before, so maybe we can see each other then?’
‘I think Tig will need me in Ealing the night before the wedding. Plus, Theo will probably want your undivided attention.’
‘That leaves …’
‘The wedding night,’ I finish.
My heart sinks. Tig and Theo’s happy day is going to be the last time Mark and I see each other.
‘If you need anything beforehand,’ he says, ‘call me. Otherwise …’
‘See you at the altar.’
