folded his arms when he saw what I was reading. Silently, I held the printouts up in inquiry.
‘I—uh—wanted to compare our methods with the opposition,’ he explained, coming over to take the pages from me. ‘You probably noticed that some of the results differ. I sent a DNA sample to each of them and ran one through our lab as a control.’
‘A sample from the same person, of course,’ I said, with a doomed feeling. ‘Cheek swabs?’
He nodded. ‘Mine.’ Warily, he went on. ‘I used my uncle’s name so that no-one at any lab would relate the sample back to me.’
‘You let me rabbit on about Keith and all the time—’
‘Cass, you must know I feel more than friendship for you. Always have.’
This seemed irrelevant but I couldn’t let it pass. ‘You never said anything. Never gave me a clue.’
‘You were with Simon for the first year I knew you.’
‘But after we broke up you didn’t say anything either.’
Martin spread his hands in classic masculine helplessness. ‘I’m just a scientist, Cass. I don’t know what to say to a woman whose man has—um—’
‘Dumped her,’ I supplied, without pain. I was hurting about different things now.
‘I was waiting for the right time because I didn’t want to be rebound man. Then you fell for
Keith
,’ he said, throwing up his hands to show his frustration.
I gaped.
He paced around the room. ‘You don’t realise how hard it was to take—you raving on about his qualities and thinking he was the ideal man.’
I reclaimed my sagging jaw. ‘You couldn’t say a nice word about Keith.’
‘I wanted to get him out of the way first. I wanted you to fall for
me
,’ Martin appealed. He stuck his hands on his hips and studied his shoes. ‘I was jealous.’
‘But Keith was—is—
you
!’ I felt as if I’d entered some weird world beyond the looking glass.
He shook his head. ‘No, that’s what I’ve been saying. Keith’s my profile. My profile isn’t me.’
Ah. Now I was grounded again.
‘You’ve got AVPR1A with no copies of 334,’ I accused, jabbing at his chest. ‘But you were always with a girl-I’d-never-seen-before. You’re not monogamous!’
Martin shrugged. ‘Not so far.’
‘And you’re addicted to adrenaline sports.’
‘Not addicted, Cass.’
I swept past him and into the living room where I snatched my bra off the floor. Is there anything more depressing than discarded clothes when the desire has gone? ‘Oh, yes. Addicted. Like your father. “Don’t forget the antivenene”,’ I mocked.
‘Look, I could have told you I was Mr Perfect Genotype, claimed that I was genetically programmed to be the ideal partner in spite of appearances, but I was honest about it. I wanted you to want me the way I am. Ten minutes ago I thought you did.’
My face heated. ‘Don’t remind me.’ He moved towards me and I held up a hand. ‘You lied to me, patronised me. I came this close … to … to being just another one of your girls. Brilliant technique, Martin. Removing
this
—’ I jabbed with the bra which swung like a pendulum, ‘was like a magician’s trick—practice makes perfect.’
‘Sorry I’m not a fumbling fool in bed,’ he snapped.
‘And nice touch, hanging my painting.’
‘Now wait, Cass—’ He caught my arm as I headed for the door. I shook him off.
‘Ironic, isn’t it? If you hadn’t hung my painting I never would have gone into your office and seen those printouts. When were you planning to tell me that it was your DNA I’ve been mooning over?’
The words hung in the air, ludicrous, laughable. If he laughed I’d throw something. But he didn’t laugh.
‘Goodbye, Martin. You’ll have my resignation on Monday.’
It was a miserable weekend. The sun shone in a crystalline sky, the air was mild, early tulips appeared in the park across the road. Miserable. Eventually, I made a phone call, not to Julia but to my mother. She painted too, and I supposed it was her genes and influence
‘I—uh—wanted to compare our methods with the opposition,’ he explained, coming over to take the pages from me. ‘You probably noticed that some of the results differ. I sent a DNA sample to each of them and ran one through our lab as a control.’
‘A sample from the same person, of course,’ I said, with a doomed feeling. ‘Cheek swabs?’
He nodded. ‘Mine.’ Warily, he went on. ‘I used my uncle’s name so that no-one at any lab would relate the sample back to me.’
‘You let me rabbit on about Keith and all the time—’
‘Cass, you must know I feel more than friendship for you. Always have.’
This seemed irrelevant but I couldn’t let it pass. ‘You never said anything. Never gave me a clue.’
‘You were with Simon for the first year I knew you.’
‘But after we broke up you didn’t say anything either.’
Martin spread his hands in classic masculine helplessness. ‘I’m just a scientist, Cass. I don’t know what to say to a woman whose man has—um—’
‘Dumped her,’ I supplied, without pain. I was hurting about different things now.
‘I was waiting for the right time because I didn’t want to be rebound man. Then you fell for
Keith
,’ he said, throwing up his hands to show his frustration.
I gaped.
He paced around the room. ‘You don’t realise how hard it was to take—you raving on about his qualities and thinking he was the ideal man.’
I reclaimed my sagging jaw. ‘You couldn’t say a nice word about Keith.’
‘I wanted to get him out of the way first. I wanted you to fall for
me
,’ Martin appealed. He stuck his hands on his hips and studied his shoes. ‘I was jealous.’
‘But Keith was—is—
you
!’ I felt as if I’d entered some weird world beyond the looking glass.
He shook his head. ‘No, that’s what I’ve been saying. Keith’s my profile. My profile isn’t me.’
Ah. Now I was grounded again.
‘You’ve got AVPR1A with no copies of 334,’ I accused, jabbing at his chest. ‘But you were always with a girl-I’d-never-seen-before. You’re not monogamous!’
Martin shrugged. ‘Not so far.’
‘And you’re addicted to adrenaline sports.’
‘Not addicted, Cass.’
I swept past him and into the living room where I snatched my bra off the floor. Is there anything more depressing than discarded clothes when the desire has gone? ‘Oh, yes. Addicted. Like your father. “Don’t forget the antivenene”,’ I mocked.
‘Look, I could have told you I was Mr Perfect Genotype, claimed that I was genetically programmed to be the ideal partner in spite of appearances, but I was honest about it. I wanted you to want me the way I am. Ten minutes ago I thought you did.’
My face heated. ‘Don’t remind me.’ He moved towards me and I held up a hand. ‘You lied to me, patronised me. I came this close … to … to being just another one of your girls. Brilliant technique, Martin. Removing
this
—’ I jabbed with the bra which swung like a pendulum, ‘was like a magician’s trick—practice makes perfect.’
‘Sorry I’m not a fumbling fool in bed,’ he snapped.
‘And nice touch, hanging my painting.’
‘Now wait, Cass—’ He caught my arm as I headed for the door. I shook him off.
‘Ironic, isn’t it? If you hadn’t hung my painting I never would have gone into your office and seen those printouts. When were you planning to tell me that it was your DNA I’ve been mooning over?’
The words hung in the air, ludicrous, laughable. If he laughed I’d throw something. But he didn’t laugh.
‘Goodbye, Martin. You’ll have my resignation on Monday.’
It was a miserable weekend. The sun shone in a crystalline sky, the air was mild, early tulips appeared in the park across the road. Miserable. Eventually, I made a phone call, not to Julia but to my mother. She painted too, and I supposed it was her genes and influence
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