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small joint to cook, they sat on the sofa watching the BBC news channel.
    They ate at the table and Helena described a new course she was thinking of taking.
    ‘Do you think I could do it? Do you think I’m capable? This isn’t the time to be nice, this is the time to be honest.’ She laughed. ‘What am I talking about? Telling my wonderfully practical and unemotional Dean that he needs to be honest. You’d never lie to me, would you? So what do you think about me doing this course?’
    Dean stared down at his plate. For some reason, the meat bathing in Helena’s special recipe red wine gravy made him feel sick.
    He chewed the food in his mouth carefully before replying. ‘You’re capable of doing anything you set your mind to. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.’ He placed his knife and fork across his plate and took a deep breath. There was no point postponing it; this was a conversation they needed to have one day. ‘Helena, have you ever thought about marriage?’
    ‘Oh Dean, baby.’ She clapped her hands together and Dean thought he glimpsed the child she must have once been in the pure happiness of her face. ‘I knew you’d ask me. My father keeps saying that you’re wasting my time, I’m throwing my youth away on you, but he doesn’t understand. Neither of us is young anyway. We’re careful and responsible. Why would you rush into something so big, so important? I’m going to phone my parents right now.’
    ‘Hel …’ He reached out his arm for her, but she’d already rushed away from the table and was getting the mobile out of her bag.
    Still it wasn’t too late. He could tell her that it hadn’t been a proposal, he could tell her that he had intended to explain how unsuitable he was as a long-term relationship prospect, that he tried but he couldn’t visualise marrying her. Instead, he silently watched her speed dial her parents and listened to one side of the ensuing phone call with a calm acceptance.
    ‘No, he didn’t get down on one knee.’
    ‘No, there was no traditional romance.’
    ‘But Dean isn’t about all that fake stuff.’
    ‘Dean is real.’
    ‘Dean is true.’
    ‘That’s why I love him so much.’
    ‘Yes, I’m happy. Of course, I’m happy. Soooo happy. I couldn’t be happier.’
    ‘I’m thinking of a big summer wedding.’
    When the phone was thrust into Dean’s hand he accepted the congratulations of Helena’s mother and the rebukes of her father for not discussing and seeking permission from the head of the family before taking such an important step.
    Then Helena phoned her brother, her sister, her closest friends. After the tenth phone call, Dean began to suspect she was spreading the news to everyone she knew. Some tiny part of him might have considered that Helena knew he hadn’t meant to propose, that she’d even possessed an awareness of what he’d wanted to say, and had managed to twist it into an opportunity. She was telling everyone she vaguely knew to try and convince herself that it had been a real proposal, to try and make it feel real, to make it more difficult for Dean to retract. Some tiny part of Dean might have thought along those lines, but there was another, larger part that could see no logical reason why he shouldn’t marry Helena if that’s what she wanted. The way it happened, perhaps, was the only way it could have happened, but that didn’t mean Helena wasn’t his destiny.
    He continued to sit patiently through it all. His fingers itched to reach for the paper; he had a sudden yearning to read about wars and economic collapse, anything to make him feel the real problems of this world, which had nothing to do with him sitting in his small flat listening to his new fiancée tell everyone how happy she was. He hoped his smile looked genuine rather than resigned.
    After the 15th phone call, before she had time to call the 16th person, Dean stood up and took Helena’s hands in his. She dropped her mobile to the