I heard a cry from the kitchen. 'Damn!' A pause. 'Damned piece of shit toaster!' and then a crash.
I rushed through to see Lisa scowling at our toaster, which was lying on its side against a wall, smoke pouring out of it.
'What's the matter?'
'That stupid toaster's a piece of crap.' Lisa was shaking with anger. 'It's burned the damned muffin!'
I pulled the plug out of the wall socket, and looked in the toaster. The muffin was indeed stuck. I grabbed a knife and forced it out, sending the blackened bread spinning across the kitchen counter. I turned to see Lisa trying to hold back tears, her face red.
'I'm sorry, Simon,' she said.
I put my arms around her, and she buried her head in my shoulder. She began to sob.
I held her tight.
'It's only a stupid toaster,' she said.
'Shhh. Don't worry about it.'
She broke away. 'I need a tissue.' She fetched one, and blew her nose. 'I'm OK now.
'Are you sure?'
'Yeah. Stupid toaster,' she mumbled, with a half-smile.
We sat on the sofa in the sitting room, my arm around her. I was shaken. Lisa was perfectly capable of losing her temper, but never over something so minor. I wanted so desperately to comfort her, to smooth over everything that was tearing her up inside. I could tell she didn't want to talk about it, but at least she let me put my arm around her. We just sat there for a long time, the TV laughing emptily at us.
I would have liked to have stayed like that all evening, but I had to tell Lisa about the take-over, no matter what Art said. Once it was made public, she would know that I had kept the information from her. That would really make her angry, and with some justification. It wasn't a good time, but no time seemed like a good time these days.
So I summoned up my courage and took a deep breath. 'I heard some news today,' I said.
'Oh, yes?' Her eyes were fixed on the television in front of her.
'It's about Boston Peptides. But it's highly confidential. If I tell you, you mustn't mention it to anyone at work. They told me to keep it quiet. Even from you.'
Lisa turned to me. 'What is it?'
'BioOne is going to buy Boston Peptides.'
'No! Are you serious?'
I nodded.
'Jesus! Does Henry know?'
'I don't think so.'
'But you can't buy a bio tech company without talking to the people first.'
'They've been negotiating directly with Venture First. I think the idea is to sweeten the management afterwards. Which means Henry, of course. And maybe you.'
'I can't believe it,' she said. 'We need the money, but
'I assume so.'
'How long have you known?'
'I found out this morning.'
'This morning?' her eyes narrowed with suspicion. 'You didn't tell them what I'd said about our cash problems, did you?'
'Of course not!'
'Because if you did, and if you're the reason I'm going to be working for BioOne…'
'Lisa, I didn't.' I could feel my own voice rising in anger. I fought to control it. 'Look. At least you'll have the resources to finish working on BP 56.'
'Yeah, but Thomas Enever will take all the credit, and I'll be lucky if I'm doing anything more than washing out test tubes. That man's awful, Simon. I've heard all about him.'
'He can't be that bad,' I said, although from what I'd seen of him I feared perhaps he might be.
Lisa pulled away from me. 'You don't understand, do you? Everything I have worked for for the last four years has been sold out from under me to a total asshole. By my husband's firm, for God's sake!'
'Lisa…'
'I'm going to bed.'
With that she left me on the sofa, with the television's inane chatter, while she busied herself in the bathroom and bedroom.
I hadn't had a chance to tell Lisa what Enever had said about management rationalization. Given her mood, I was glad. Anyway, as I had thought about it that afternoon, I had decided there was little chance BioOne would be foolish enough to get rid of someone with Lisa's talent who knew more than anyone else in the world about BP 56. I waited half an hour, and then got undressed and crawled into bed. I could tell Lisa was still awake.
'Good night,' I said.
No response.
Usually, on those rare occasions when we fought, Lisa could soon be brought round. But that night I didn't even try.
Eventually I must have fallen into a deep sleep, because I awoke at a quarter to nine. Lisa was gone. To the lab presumably.
I pulled on my rowing gear and jogged down to the boathouse. I was five minutes late, and Kieran was waiting for me. He was a tall, rangy Irishman from Trinity College, Dublin whom I had met at business school. He was a good oarsman and most Saturday mornings we rowed pairs together. He had found himself a job at one of the many management consultancies in Boston.
'How are you, Simon?'
'I've probably been worse, but I don't remember it,' I said, as we slid the boat along the rack.
'I read about your father-in-law. I'm sorry.'
'Thanks.'
Kieran could tell I didn't want to talk, and knew to let it drop. 'Let's get this thing in the water.'
We threw the boat into the river, and I stepped in first. I was rowing stroke, Kieran bow. We soon set up a good rhythm. My muscles stretched and pulled, my heart pumped blood, oxygen and endorphins round my system, cool air flowed over my exposed skin and cool water underneath me. I began to relax. After ten minutes of concentrating on the rowing, my mind began to turn to Lisa.
I was worried about her. I had known Frank's death would fall very hard on her, and I had done my best to give her all the support I could. But work was getting at her as well. The timing was terrible. She seemed to be almost physically ill – tired, with headaches, and that dreadful look of despair. She had completely overreacted to the toaster burning her muffin. And it had been unlike Lisa to fly off the handle when I had told her about the take-over. It made no sense to blame me. But with all the pressure she was under, her outburst was hardly surprising. Perhaps she just felt that she had to blame someone for everything that was happening to her, and I was the easiest and safest choice.
Until now, when things had gone wrong, we had been able to rely on each other for support. Of course, nothing had tested us quite like the events of the past week, but I had hoped we would be able to deal with Frank's death together. It now looked as if things might not work out that way.
Well, Lisa needed me more than ever now. I would try to do everything I could to help her, and just put up with any moodiness on her part.
'Hey, slow down, Simon!' Kieran called behind me. 'I had a heavy night last night.'
'Sorry,' I shouted back. I had sped up without realizing it, so I reduced my pace to a more sedate thirty strokes per minute or so. 'That better?'
'That's fine. We'll win the Olympics next weekend, if that's OK with you.'
We glided along steadily, sliding underneath the graceful bridges spanning the Charles.
'Simon?' he called.
