‘And, of course,’ Ana continued, ‘there’s the fact that I look like a giant coat-stand.’
‘You mean you don’t like being tall?’
‘Well, it’s not so much the tallness as the tallness combined with the thinness.’
‘Jesus,’ said Flint, ‘did you know that London is literally bursting at the seams with women who would sell theirlungsto have your figure?’
‘Yeah. Sure.’
‘No. Really. For a hell of a lot of women, your shape is an absolute ideal.’
‘But that’s ridiculous. Why?’
Flint shrugged. ‘Because that’s what models look like, I suppose, and some actresses.’
Ana looked unconvinced. ‘So. Carry on. Other things to make the most of …’
‘Your freedom.’
‘I haven’t got freedom.’
‘Of course you have.’
‘I haven’t. My mother has my freedom.’
‘Oh yeah. And what does she do with it?’
‘She keeps it in a little box under the stairs.’ She smiled wryly.
‘Your mother sounds like a bit of a nightmare, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘She is.’
‘So why d’you stay?’
She shrugged. ‘Because she needs me.’
Flint took a deep breath. ‘Are you sure it’s not because you need her?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Ana’s eyes boggled.
‘To hide behind.’
‘I don’t get your point.’
‘I mean – are you sure that you don’t just use your mother’s agoraphobia as an excuse to keep away from the real world? Because you can’t deal with it?’
‘Jesus,’ said Ana, ‘what is this? The Anthony Clare Show?’
‘No. It’s what your sister used to say about you, actually.’
‘What – Bee?’
‘Uh-huh. She was very concerned about you.’
‘You are joking, right?’
Flint shook his head.