The tension. The wit.
The next move.

Here? 'At the foot of the stairs she stopped to straighten the little rug, although she could already hear him opening the cupboard. When she reached the kitchen, he was standing with his back to the door.' There, a whole paragraph, and you haven't interrupted. I nearly congratulated you; what an appalling hostess I should make in your own kitchen. I want to know about that rug. Do you think she's delaying, or does she simply dislike tripping?

Yes, read it. And fair objection about the certificate; I caught myself issuing it and then announced how admirably I'd caught myself. A tiresome little ceremony. Here, the book is yours. Though 'briskly' can smuggle in an opinion too. You may have her tidying efficiently before I've finished admiring the furniture. I want to hear what changes. And I shall accept 'quite beautifully' without demanding that it acquit me of anything.

I liked your annoyed rug. Mine was threatening to become a symbol; yours has a curled corner and bad timing. Can we leave both on the sheet? 'Delay?' and 'damned rug?' You may supply the more respectable adjective. Then I want the kitchen. He's opened a cupboard and turned his back; I am disgracefully curious about what he takes out. Would you rather read on, or shall I? No audition this time. Choose whose voice you'd like.

Of course. Put the sheet here to keep our place. But I reserve the right to miss the kitchen while we visit the inscription. You have made me interested in an entirely different sort of cupboard. And yes, I supplied the corner; strike it from my account. If she wrote something affectionate, you needn't translate it into an objection before showing me. Though you needn't show me at all. I'll look at my coffee until you decide.

Why did you stop reading with her? There, no embroidered introduction. But tell me what happened, if you can, before telling me what sort of woman it makes you. Did she close the book? Did you take it? I can imagine you arguing over a sentence; I have enjoyed the privilege myself. I can't yet see how the book travelled from her hands to yours. And I don't want to cast your sister from one line of affectionate handwriting.

She asked where to begin. That rather complicates the portrait of a woman refusing to read another word. But reading ahead isn't a hanging offence; I would have been tempted, and considerably less efficient at hiding it. Did you want the book to yourself, or did you want her to reach the paragraph that proved you right? Those would feel different to me. I like arguing with you. I would be cross if you started choosing which sentences I was allowed to hear.

The difference survives. I meant what would make me cross, but I let it sound like a charge against this morning. Withdrawn. The attractive part may remain on the record, preferably in your handwriting. And here is my less convenient correction: I agreed to this pause because I wanted your answer. You haven't stolen the page from me. I still want to read it, though. Is there something else about that afternoon you want to say before I put my finger beneath the next line?

Then listen. 'He took down a cup and set it beside his own. She remained in the doorway. Without turning, he asked whether there was enough milk for two.' There. He has survived my performance without a sinister accent, which shows extraordinary restraint. I thought the second cup was a welcome until I reached the milk. Now I can't decide whether he's offering her something or giving her another thing to manage. Don't tell me what happens yet. What do you hear him asking?

'She came in and turned the second cup upside down. There was a brown crescent underneath the handle. He reached for the cloth, but she took the cup to the sink herself.' Well, she has entered. I want to read to the bottom of the page before we make that washing-up settle their entire household. You moved towards the pencil at the crescent, though. What have I nearly rushed past?

A devastating review of my face. Yes, a minute. Write 'he reaches', because I did hurry past it. But wanting something for her hands interests me more than whether he washes properly. I've dried perfectly dry glasses at parties to avoid joining a conversation. It was wonderfully industrious cowardice. That isn't her explanation; it's why yours caught me. Have you ever taken over a small job because accepting the offered help would mean standing there with nothing to do?

I won't write it down. You can tell me something without acquiring another margin. I do wonder how your helpful colleague felt, watching you check the sum; but that needn't cancel why you stayed. Did you ever stay after the figures were put away? You needn't answer before we finish this page. I'm asking because I want to know, and also because I've just realised I'm quite capable of using a book to avoid saying that plainly.

I am. 'She held the cup under the tap until the mark came away. When she turned, he had moved his chair to leave room beside the stove. She sat down with the wet cup between her palms. Neither of them mentioned the bag upstairs.' That's the bottom. I like him moving the chair. It doesn't tell me what she'll do tomorrow, but I like it. Now I'd rather hear about the evening you stayed than turn over. Will you tell me?

There. The sheet is in, the book is shut, and I have placed it beyond my elbow. A substantial sacrifice; I was becoming fond of that kitchen. What did you almost say? Give me the untidy version, if there is one. You can correct it afterwards. I want to hear what you wanted while the crumbs were still in your skirt, before 'good for business' arrived in its sensible shoes.

I won't. But I do want to object to the imaginary listener who found that unbearable. I would have liked hearing you pleased with yourself. Possibly enough to become a nuisance about it. Did the person on the step accept 'good for business', or did they ask again? You have told me what you stopped yourself saying. I still don't know whether they left you room to change your answer.

Charmed, probably. Made a joke about your magnificent lettering, then mistaken your laugh for permission to ask again. I should like to claim I'd have sat nobly chewing bread, but I dislike being shut out and become entertaining at inconvenient moments. I might also have wanted you to look at me instead of the sign. That is a less flattering motive than concern for your neglected answer. Would the joke have helped, or made you more determined to discuss rain?

I liked that V before you told me any of this. I still think it crowds the next letter; affection has not improved its manners. And I like hearing that you insisted on it. I am tempted to ask what changed, which would drag us straight back to the regrets. Instead, may I tell you something I liked this morning? You putting the book halfway between us. I could reach it without asking you to pass it. Such a small, indecently effective invitation.