one or the other, and some who liked both. Perhaps that was where James was. He was one who liked both. And if that was the case, then there was not very much that anybody else could do about it, even if they wanted to. James would have to decide what to do.
They rehearsed various possibilities, but forty minutes later they were no further on. “Why don’t you wait and see what happens?” she said eventually. “Give it a year. Then if you really are going through some sort of change, you’ll know about it. See how things turn out.”
James looked thoughtful. “But if I’m to make a choice—and maybe you’re right, maybe that’s what I should do—then surely I’ll need to try being straight? Which means I’ll need to find a girlfriend.”
Caroline agreed. “Fine. No problem with that. Find one.”
“But that’s hardly fair on the girl,” said James. “Nobody wants to be an experiment.”
That, thought Caroline, is why I like you. You’re so decent, so good. In general, men were only too willing to treat women as experiments.
“I think you should just tell her,” she said. “You should explain the situation.”
James looked doubtful. “But will anybody want me if I say that?”
Caroline knew the answer to this. “Listen,” she said. “There are hundreds of girls—thousands—who believe that they can win over a man who appears not to be interested. These girls think that they just need to show him what he’s missing. They really do. Such men are seen as projects.”
James laughed. “Then they’re wrong.”
“Misadvised,” said Caroline.
“I don’t want you to think that I believe there’s anything wrong about it,” said James. “I suspect I could be equally happy either way. It’s just that I’m not sure which way I am.”
The conversation had come full circle, and Caroline now looked at her watch. “I have to go to Blackwell’s,” she said, “and then I want to go back to my flat.” She hesitated. She did not want to leave him in the coffee bar, uncertain about who he was, but nor did she want to stay too long. She would ask him to accompany her. He was easy company and he would be no bother.
“Look, James,” she said. “Would you like to come back to Corduroy Mansions with me?”
He gave a start, and spilled a small amount of coffee on the sleeve of his shirt. “You mean—?”
Caroline realised that he had misunderstood. “Of course not,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you to think that. Oh dear.”
For a moment he looked crestfallen. She swallowed hard. “Listen, James,” she went on, “I find you really attractive. And you are, you know. Anybody would find you attractive. But you and I are just friends, aren’t we? There would be no point in changing the nature of our relationship.”
He nodded. “I suppose you’re right. But that’s what everybody’s going to think, aren’t they? They will want me as a friend and that’s all. How will I ever know what I want if all I’m going to get is friendship?”
“Oh come on, don’t talk such rubbish. As I told you, there’ll be plenty of girls wanting to … to get to know you better. Plenty.”
“I hope so.”
She rose to her feet. “Come on, let’s go to Blackwell’s. Then, when we get back to Corduroy Mansions, we can bake something together. I want to make some biscuits.”
He looked at her mournfully. “There you are,” he said. “Would any woman ever invite a straight man to cook biscuits with her?”
Caroline was about to dismiss his objection out of hand, but then she thought, Yes, he’s right. No woman would ask a completely straight man to cook biscuits with her. It just wouldn’t happen.
17. Brutalism in Architecture
“ARTS AND CRAFTS!” exclaimed James. “Is this your place, Caroline? Corduroy Mansions.”
They had walked together up Ebury Street and turned into the side street on which, along with several other less distinguished blocks of flats, stood Corduroy Mansions. James, who had a strong interest in architecture, was ecstatic.
“Look at your chimney,” he exclaimed. “Pure Domestic Revival! And the sharply sloping roof. And the dormers. Oh, Caroline!”
“Those dormer windows are fake,” Caroline said. “William—he lives on the top floor—says that there’s nothing in the roof, just empty space.”
James became even more enthusiastic. “Fake windows! Even better. Can you think of one contemporary architect, just one, who would bother to put in fake windows?”
They were standing on the pavement outside Corduroy Mansions, both looking up at the building’s cream-painted brick