The reality gap between the Hugo I dated and Hugo, Antonio’s ex doesn’t, I realise, mean that my version of the truth is the false one. Perhaps, I reason, there is a third reality, a third version of events able to encompass everything that we both believe to be true, but try as I might, and no matter how many times I sift through the images, no new data comes to light. The phone rings, and because I am grateful for the interruption, I snatch it from the receiver, but when I hear the voice at the other end I grimace. “He lives!” Jenny exclaims. “Jees Mark, I’ve been trying to call you all week.” I silently mouth the word “fuck” and swallow, biding for time. “I, um … Did you?” I say unconvincingly. “You know I did. I left enough messages,” she spits. I wince. “Messages?” I say. “How are you ever going to pull this off?” I wonder. “Erh, hello?” Jenny says sarcastically. “You know, messages? On your answer-phone?” An idea starts to form, and I grin at the naughtiness of it.
