‘Good, because you’re not getting them.’
She wanted to flush her phone down the toilet with exasperation at that moment. ‘Fuck you, Paul! You know I’m not interested in all that!’
‘Maybe might not be right now, but once your clock starts ticking—’
‘Don’t you dare!’ She flung the beaker and five toothbrushes into the sink in anger. She noticed that the bristles of her own toothbrush had touched those of her mother’s and immediately washed it under scalding water from the hot tap. ‘Don’t you patronise me. Telling me what to do with my ovaries! And much as you’d like to be consigned to the trash heap, you bloody masochist, there’s nothing wrong with your spunk, old man. If I wanted a child – which I don’t – you’re perfectly capable of giving me one. All you need is a change of scenery, a more patient therapist and a hot fortnight between my thighs.’
On the other end of the line, she could hear her lover growling with dissatisfaction. Stubborn old bastard missed her, she was sure. She tried to keep the smile out of her voice. ‘Don’t play games with me. They’re a waste of my time. We’re on. Right? That’s it. George and Paul. I don’t own you. You don’t own me. But we fuck like Olympic champions and we fit. I can’t have you acting like we’re some failed formula you’d like to expunge from a bloody whiteboard. Now, what the hell do you want?’
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