She told him he could sleep with someone else. She even helped him choose the woman. What she never told him was that the only acceptable answer was no. At 2:13 in the morning, Adrian opened the front door and found his girlfriend sitting at the kitchen table. The lights were off. Only the cooker clock illuminated the room, throwing a pale green reflection across the glass of water in front of her. Simone was wearing his grey sweatshirt. Her hair was tied back. She had not been crying, or at least there was no evidence of it. She looked at him for a moment. “Did you actually do it?” Adrian stopped with his keys still in his hand. They had discussed this for twenty-three days. She had brought it up first, returned to it after he refused, and eventually sent him the name of a woman she thought he would like. Now, standing in their kitchen, he understood that the answer she wanted was not the answer she had given him permission to make. ...
He booked their Saturdays weeks in advance. She mistook the certainty of his plans for certainty about their relationship. Nia first noticed the reservation because Daniel sent her a screenshot while she was waiting for the Jubilee line at London Bridge. A small table for two at a restaurant in Soho, booked three Saturdays ahead. He had added a note asking whether she preferred the earlier or later sitting. It was not the sort of thing she was used to receiving from a man she had met only a few weeks earlier. There was no vague suggestion that they should "do something soon," no Friday afternoon scramble to decide where to go. Daniel booked, checked the time, and arrived when he said he would. They had met in May at a friend's birthday dinner in Shoreditch. Nia was thirty-one and worked in communications. She lived in Stratford and liked knowing what her week would look like before it began. Daniel, thirty-four...