Tom, aged 38, is reunited with ex-wife Mary, aged 34, to see if the love they once shared might bloom again and for a laugh.
Tom on Mary
First impression?
My stomach dropped as my adrenal medulla flooded my brain with hormones and I regressed to primal fight-or-flight mode. Could it really be her? Why would this happen? Did she mean it when she swore to kill me?
How was the conversation?
Horrifically tense. Even the most trivial of observations about the bread starter got weaponised. It was like we’d only been arguing yesterday and picked right up where we left off.
Memorable moments?
When her knuckles whitened around her knife as I admitted I’d been dating someone ten years younger than me. I honestly thought it was going through my eyeball.
Favourite thing about Mary?
She doesn’t follow through on her death threats.
A capsule description?
Intimidating, terrifying, expensive in a legal sense. With a strong undercurrent of bitterness and rancour, and the unmistakable implication that the world would be a better place without me in it.
Was there a spark?
My heart skipped a beat. I may now have permanent cardiac arrhythmia.
What happened afterwards?
I ran home to check our divorce papers, make sure that the decree is really absolute, and ensure there aren’t any loopholes she could exploit. There aren’t. Thank fuck, there aren’t.
What would you change about the evening?
The location, the company, everything. Even the crème brûlée tasted like ashes in my mouth.
Will you see each other again?
I am willing to dedicate the rest of my life to making sure that does not happen. No matter what it takes.
Mary on Tom
First impression?
This fucking prick? Seriously? Do they want him to fucking die?
How was the conversation?
Difficult. He seemed very reluctant to talk about his affairs no matter how often I asked him about them. Even the ones I’ve found out about post-divorce and haven’t even screamed at him in white-hot rage about yet.
Memorable moments?
I’m pretty sure he wet himself in terror just after the starter, when he admitted he was seeing that bitch who used to walk our dogs. To be fair I was reasonably close to murder.
Favourite thing about Tom?
The involuntary spasm of fear when he hears my name, and his cowering. Let me assure him he’s right to do so.
A capsule description?
A spineless piece of shit with no integrity who follows his pathetic little dick through life. The bread starter was excellent though.
Was there a spark?
It was more like a supernova of pure, unbridled loathing.
What happened afterwards?
I keyed his car.
What would you change about the evening?
Ideally, he wouldn’t have survived it and his body would never be found, but I’d have a watertight alibi.
Will you see each other again?
In hell.
