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‘Yes,’ I say patiently.
He pauses, looking perplexed, as though I’ve just announced I’m putting my hat in the ring to be the next prime minister of Britain. ‘A proper one? An actual university?’ he continues, undeterred.
How are we still on the subject of my certification? How?
‘Well, it’s more of an online university. Well, less of a university and more of a… an online centre.’
‘And they give actual degrees out in this kind of stuff now, do they?’ he asks, still sounding baffled. ‘After only a couple of weeks?’
Honestly! If he says ‘actual’ one more time… I swear I will slap him. I will slap.
‘Yes!’ I snap. Why is it so difficult to believe? ‘Well, it’s more of a diploma, if you must know.’ Then I spoil things by blurting rather childishly, ‘Level four. Ofqual approved!’
One look into his wide eyes and I can tell they are filling with mirth. I fold my arms and tilt my head. ‘How many degrees do you have?’
‘I’m an accountant. Well, and a lawyer,’ he says modestly. ‘So, just the two. Ofqual approved, of course.’
Oh dear.
‘How nice for you.’
‘They come in handy… especially at times like this.’
‘So you’ll help me?’ I keep nodding. He’s definitely coming round to the idea and I’m running out of time.
‘To be clear, you want me to aid and abet while you deceive your employer. In other words, a complete breach of trust, not to mention the legalities of breaking contractual agreements?’
Oh, my word. I do hope he isn’t going to go on and on. I haven’t got all day.
‘Yes,’ I say impatiently. ‘You’re making it all sound much worse than it is.’
He raises an eyebrow.
‘Will you do it, or not?’ I ask in a desperate tone.
He takes a million years to mull it over.
‘Sure, why not?’ Then he throws his head back and laughs like a drain as I manhandle him across the office onto the good sofa.
‘Sit there and think up some reason why you’re here,’ I instruct. ‘You know, like, erm, you’re desperately unhappy about something in your life.’
‘I do actually have an issue with the people at work I was telling you about.’
Who cares? Don’t we all?
I stare at him. Bingo! ‘I know! You hate your brother. He’s selfish and spoilt. Everything in life is so easy for him. And he’s handsome, he’s rich, he’s popular. Everything you’re not. Okay?’ I spring up. ‘I’ll get us some coffee.’
‘Okay. So, do you still want me to think of a reason to be here, or did you just give me one?’ He has an annoying sparkle in his eye. It is enormously sexy.
‘Oliver. I hope you’re not going to be like this during the session,’ I say. ‘Keep up. You have an awful brother. He’s ruined your life. It’s very simple. Just play along. I’ll ring through for Nidi.’
‘What’s he called?’
‘Who?’
‘My imaginary brother, the one I hate.’
He’s such a time-waster! Who cares what his brother is called?
