Page 62 of Close to You

David’s doing a goldfish impression; the first time I’ve seen it since we were in the service station a little under a year ago.

‘It had stopped working, so I took it to the jewellers,’ I continue. ‘I went back to pick it up, but he said the serial number was on file. It had been reported stolen eighteen months ago.’

David is like a dog stuck in a cat flap.

‘I’ve been walking around with stolen goods on my wrist for more than a year.’

He holds his hands up, still backing away – this time into the fridge: ‘I didn’t know,’ he says. ‘I bought it from a pawn shop. I buy all sorts of things from places like that. It’s my job…’

‘I don’t believe you.’

I shake my head. If that really is his job, then he should be able to tell the difference between something stolen and something that isn’t.

‘It’s the truth.’

‘Even if it is, that’s the point, isn’t it? It’snota job. It never has been. It can’t be a job if you’re buying stolen goods.’

‘I wanted to buy you a new one, but—’

‘I didn’tneeda £3,000 watch. I never did. You must know that’s not who I am…?’

David stumbles over the words, but it’s not that he can say much anyway.

It’s not even the watch. Not entirely.

‘I can’t work out when you’re lying to me,’ I say.

‘I’m not lying.’

‘You have before. You kept quiet about Yasmine. You lied about knowing Ben. You lied about going to conferences. You lied about your stolen goods.’

He doesn’t say anything, so I keep going.

‘I could’ve been arrested. I think the jeweller felt sorry for me, which is why he said he’d deal with it indirectly. I still don’t know what that means.’

‘I didn’t steal it.’

David speaks through gritted teeth and everything about him screams that he wants to be somewhere else.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

‘You can’t give me something stolen and then make it all right by saying you love me. It doesn’t work like that. Tell me the truth.’

He opens the fridge door and then closes it, then takes two paces to the other side of the kitchen, before taking a couple of steps back. His breathing quickens and then, finally, after everything: ‘I knew it was stolen.’

Deep down, I think I always knew. David never had that much money, let alone that muchfor a watch. The rugby club spent three months phoning me, wanting final payment for the engagement party – and, even though David said they didn’t take cash, the secretary specifically told me they did. I suppose it was another reason for me to pay and not him. This is how it’s been ever since he moved in. The ‘rent’ is sporadic. Everything is. I pay for most things under a fantasy premise that he’ll one day pay me back – and I’ve largely stopped asking because he’s bought me off with other people’s property.

‘Where did you get it?’ I ask.

‘Someone I know.’

‘A thief?’

He shakes his head. ‘Just someone who sells things…’