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‘It’s reality, isn’t it?’ I told him. ‘I can’t afford to take risks. I’ve got bills to pay. Commitments. Things I have to save up for.’
‘Like what?’
A tourist boat beeped its horn as it passed, its decks filled with tourists enjoying the sun, their cameras glinting and flashing against a backdrop of bright blue sky, which was now feathered with just the wispiest of white clouds.
‘I don’t know. Property?’
He looked surprised. ‘You want to buy a house?’
‘I mean eventually. Yeah.’
‘And in the meantime you remain bored and fed up in this job that you do not like?’
‘Well, yeah. That’s the sacrifice, isn’t it, as you get older? Most of your hopes and dreams have to go out of the window.’
‘Do they?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do they have to?’
I looked down at my ankle, turning it over to check it wasn’t swollen.
‘Actually,’ I said, wondering whether I should tell him. ‘There’s this photography course I’m thinking of doing.’
He took the empty paper bag from me and lobbed it into a bin about a metre away; it was a clean shot.
‘Like at a university?’ he asked.
I lifted my camera and took a quick shot of a pretty mint-green humpbacked bridge downstream.
‘It’s a pre-degree course at Central Saint Martins.’
When I’d mentioned it to Si, I’d felt like he’d tried to put me off. He’d said it sounded like a good way to spend money I didn’t have. That he didn’t know why I’d want to give up every Saturday for six months when we could be spending that time together. We’d never be able to go away for the weekend, he’d pointed out and I’d said: when do we ever go away for the weekend? I hadn’t mentioned it since.
‘It’s an art school. In London,’ I added.
‘I know Central Saint Martins, Hannah.’
His know-it-all tone made me want to stop talking.
‘Sorry,’ he said, softening. ‘Carry on.’
I struggled to find the right words now that I’d lost my flow. How had I got started on this particular topic of conversation, anyway?
‘The course has got some complicated name,’ I said tentatively, wondering what scathing observation he was going to make about it all. ‘Something about professional practice and a portfolio. It’s only part-time, but there’s loads of work outside of class.’
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapped out a short text and then put it away, focussing his attention on me again. ‘This is possible for you?’
I nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘And you have made an application?’
I twisted my lens cap back and forth. ‘Not yet. The closing date is next Wednesday.’
He got up and went to crouch on the edge of the bank, gazing at something in the water.
‘You must do it, oui?’ he said, looking at me over his shoulder.
