Doug flicked the ash from his cigarette. ' Hard to believe, I know. But it's true. I really was an artist. I lived for my paintings and they were good too. I worked all day in a penthouse studio with big windows. Wonderful life, it was.'

'Don't have to impress me, you know,' said Brian. 'I'm nobody.'

'Course you think I'm making it up,' Doug shook his head. 'Perhaps I didn't deserve it. That's what Natasha thought.' Gazing into the grey evening he remembered her gold-red hair and her laughter. Remembered how she would come home from work to find him still painting, in bespattered old jeans, obsessed with the day's canvas. How comforted he was by her presence, by her bustling in the kitchen, by the meal they then shared. He felt like a child who had been playing freely all day, and whose mother had come to attend to his needs.

Flinging down the cigarette stub, he ground it under his heavy boot. 'I don't understand it! What made her do it? What had I done to her?' Turning to Brian with blazing eyes, he demanded, 'Why?'

'Why what? What did she do?'

'She took up with that boring man from her office. An accountant, for God's sake! Smart suit, clean fingernails, restaurants, theatre, money... That was it. It was the money.' They started to walk to keep warm.

'Didn't you have any money, then? You could've sold your paintings if they were that good, couldn't you?'

'You bet I could. They were amongst the very best, I can tell you.'

'So?'

'I didn't have time, did I? I was too busy painting them. Besides, you need to have contacts, people who can get you an exhibition. I couldn't do all that could I? I had no one to help me and Natasha wouldn't. She moaned enough as it was about going to work and shopping and cooking. Thought I should have applied for benefit but I don’t like filling in forms. She said I was a liability, she didn't want to support me. Then when her golden boy came along, that was it. She came out with it straight, she wanted a nice home and a baby, and as I wasn't earning any money she was off with Gerald. It was goodbye to the poor artist. He could fend for himself.'

They were walking along the Embankment now, Brian trotting to keep up with Doug's angry steps.

Doug had no words for the feelings that had swept over him once she had gone. Flat was up for sale, nothing to eat in the house, and nobody there for him, no one in the world. He had to get her back. He had to get back at her. He had to show her how much he needed her, how much he cared. But what could he do? He marched along in bitter silence, immersed in the pain of the three weeks that had passed before he decided how to make her understand..

Brian was out of breath but he managed to ask, 'What did you do then?'

'Set fire to the place,' said Doug. 'Burnt all the bloody paintings and the whole house with them. She never came back though. And now, I just don't care. What use was any of it to me, with Natasha gone?'