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from Four Weddings and a Funeral and given all my exes a number instead of naming them, when discussing them with Terry. I told myself this allowed me the freedom to be open and, where appropriate, bluntly truthful about the relationships or lack thereof without fear of having to insult (or, indeed, compliment) anyone directly. Glasgow is a very small big city, and you never know who you might bump into unexpectedly. Like Andy McDowell in the film, the numbers went in chronological order and were in no way a ‘rating’.
    ‘Okay, three.’
    ‘Wow, we are going back a bit, then.’
    ‘I believe I already acknowledged that fact.’
    ‘Right,’ Terry said, standing up. ‘I’m going to the bar while I think about this. You must have told me some stories about number three. Lager?’
    I nodded, smiling to myself as Terry went to get the beers in. I knew for a fact I had never, not once, no matter how drunk I had been, told Terry a story about number three. It wasn’t a rule; it wasn’t something I ever had to remind myself of - I just didn’t talk about Paula, simple as that. Those memories were mine, alone.
    I knew Terry would keep digging, but I wasn’t worried. I was about to change the subject.
    I could see he’d been distracted by the sight of four youngish guys who burst noisily through the door and hurried to the bar. They all wore tracksuits emblazoned with a Power Hut logo, marking them as staff members from a nearby Gym I’d joined briefly the year before (it had only taken three sessions of beetroot-faced misery before I admitted my stupidity and cancelled the direct debit). Terry’s eyes hung on the four wistfully for a second as they ordered their drinks. They were, as far as my private deductions could tell, just his type - fit, young and without an ounce of body fat between them. The exact opposite of Terry himself, in other words, who readily admitted he could afford to shed a ton or two. Possibly his tastes would change when he finally entered the world of the out, but until that happened I supposed there was no harm in him fantasising, however subconsciously, about only physically perfect, above-average-in-every-way specimens. If he wasn’t going to do anything about it, he might as well not do it with good-looking guys.
    ‘So, number three. Was she the witch?’ Terry said as he sat down, spilling his pint all over the table in his haste.
    ‘Number five,’ I said. ‘And she preferred Wicca .’
    ‘The junior doctor?’
    ‘That was four.’
    ‘Okay, was she the—’
    ‘Terry, forget it. I’m handing in my notice tomorrow.’
    That shut him up.
      One of Terry’s chins wobbled as he stared at me.
    I smiled and took a drink. ‘And for the first time in this nation’s history, Mr Terence Kendal is lost for words.’
    ‘Are you serious?’
    ‘Oh yes.’ I was enjoying this.
    ‘Have you got another job?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘What the fuck are you going to do?’
    ‘Don’t have a clue.’
    ‘Tomorrow?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Simple,’ I said. ‘Because I’ve finally admitted I don’t have an adequate answer for the question why not? The closest I’ve got to happy since I was twenty-one is too drunk to worry , Terry. That’s a terrible state of affairs. I want another go at being an adult.’
    ‘But … you’ve got a mortgage.’
    ‘I know. Not a good enough answer.’
    ‘Debt!’
    ‘Fuck it.’
    ‘Food, beer, fags!’
    Okay he had a point there, but I wasn’t for shifting. ‘I’ll figure it out.’
    ‘Which means you haven’t figured anything out yet?’
    ‘Not as such, but I’ll get there.’
    ‘I can’t believe you’re putting me in this position, Jim. This is really unfair.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You’re making me be sensible, you’re making me be the one who says you’re being irresponsible. That’s harsh.’
    ‘Terry, I’ve come to the decision that utter irresponsibility is the only responsible course left to me.’
    ‘Well, when you put it like