Say It Goes Wrong
(The Costa on Byres Road in Glasgow, Wednesday afternoon.)
Priti: You’ve read the contract, then.
Callan: Twice.
Priti: And?
Callan: And it’s a risk. I know it’s a risk. You don’t have to say it.
Priti: I wasn’t going to say it. I was going to ask what happens if the funding stops in March.
Callan: Then I’m out of a job in March.
Priti: Right. So we agree.
Callan: We don’t agree. You think that’s a reason not to go. I think it’s a reason to go now, while somebody else is paying for it.
Priti: That’s not a view, Callan. That’s a mood.
Callan: Brilliant. Thanks.
Priti: You had this exact conversation with yourself last year about Lisbon. What was the result?
Callan: I stayed.
Priti: And?
Callan: And I was miserable all winter, and you know that, and now you’re using it against me.
Priti: I’m using it for you.
Callan: You’re using it to keep me here.
(Neither of them has touched the coffee.)
Priti: Fine. Say it goes wrong. Say March comes and there’s nothing. What then?
Callan: Then I come back, I sleep on your sofa, and you get to be right for the rest of my life.
Priti: I’d take that deal.
Callan: I know you would.
Priti: So when do you have to decide?
Callan: I told them yes on Tuesday.
(Priti puts her cup down.)
Priti: Tuesday.
Callan: Tuesday.
Priti: Then what are we doing here, exactly?
Callan: You’re the only person who argues with me properly. I needed to hear it once, out loud, from somebody who isn’t me.
Priti: You could have said that an hour ago.
Callan: And you’d have gone easy on me.
Priti: I would have, yeah.
Callan: There you go.