Max stretched in his seat, suddenly aware of the discomfort. It was odd. He’d barely met her and she already seemed to have a bit of an agenda about getting him to London. Or at least it seemed like that. Of course it couldn’t be true but it was almost as if she wanted him to just drop what he was doing and go there now, with her.
But mate… get real. Beautiful women like this are never that desperate! Anyway, he sat back in the seat – there is no way you are going to London, no way.

“You’ve obviously read in the newspapers that I’m a bit of a party boy?”

“Everybody knows that!”

“Yeah well, sorry to disappoint you,” Max said, drawing on his new resolve, “but that’s not really me.”

He’d been listening quietly all night and was on the verge of announcing himself as a writer, or potential writer – he still wasn’t quite sure how to put it.

“So – everyone is wrong about you are they?”
A smug confidence enshrined her beauty – as if she knew him better than he did.

“That was a phase in my life that is now over.”
Mate, listen to yourself – that is the limpest line.

“So – what are you into now?”
She said this with such a cynical smile that he couldn’t bring himself to answer immediately.
Soon you’re going to have to explain yourself – again. She’ll want to know all about the bust, and the girl, and the court case. She’ll want to know who owned the Porsche… all that old stuff you thought you’d left behind.

“Mmm?” she nudged, affectionately.
Max remained hesitant. How could he begin to tell her about David “father” Brown, the psychologist the club had sent around to counsel him – the guy who he’d later found out wasn’t really a “father” at all – wasn’t even Catholic! It was such a long story. And how could he possibly introduce her to such an extreme idea as renunciation. She’d think he was mad to even think about it. She’d find it outrageous! She’d mock and laugh – he could already hear her say –

“Only a fool would do a stupid thing like that!”