‘It would have added complexity. I’m frequently accused of providing unnecessary detail. I just want to board the plane.’

‘What’s your wife’s name?’

I provided Rosie’s details and the officer made a confirmatory phone call.

‘She’s checked through to Melbourne, Australia. You’re not.’

‘I wanted to accompany her on the flight. To maximise time with her.’

‘You must enjoy talking to your wife more than I do.’

‘That seems probable, since she and I chose to be married and you haven’t met her.’

He looked at me oddly. It was not the first time. ‘Your flight’s on final call. Better move your ass. There’s a new boarding pass for you at the gate. They’ve done a seat switch so you’re beside your wife.’

The gate lounge was empty: Rosie was already on the plane. My only option was to board also.

She was surprised when I sat beside her. Extremely surprised.

‘How did you get here? What are you doing here? How did you get on the plane?’

‘Dave drove me. I’ve come to persuade you to return. I purchased a ticket.’

I took advantage of her silence to begin my argument, which, thanks to Dave’s advice, did not begin by identifying the sunk-cost error on the spreadsheet.

‘I love you, Rosie.’ It was true but probably sounded out of character.

‘Did Sonia tell you to say that?’

‘Correct. I should have stated it more often, but I was unaware of the requirement. However, I can confirm that the feeling has at no time disappeared.’

‘I love you too, Don, but that’s not what it’s about.’

‘I want you to get off the plane and come home with me.’

‘I thought you said you had a ticket.’

‘I purchased it only to enable me to access the airport.’

‘It’s too late, Don. My ticket’s non-refundable.’

I began to explain the sunk-cost fallacy. But Dave was right about the spreadsheet.

‘Stop, stop,’ Rosie said. ‘The spreadsheet was just to show you I’d thought about it rationally. There’s a whole bunch of other things—things I can’t quantify. I told you, there’s someone else.’

‘Phil.’ The 34 had been visible on his football shirt in photographs on the wall of Jarman’s Gym.

Rosie looked embarrassed, or at least I assumed that her expression was one of embarrassment for deceiving me. ‘Why didn’t you tell me it was your father?’

Rosie was provided with additional thinking time by a loud cabin announcement that was not compatible with conversation.

‘We’re just waiting on three passengers from a connecting flight—’

‘I wanted to make it easier, simpler.’

‘By inventing an imaginary boyfriend?’

‘You invented an imaginary me.’

It was possible that Rosie was offering a deep psychological insight, or she could have been referring to Sonia. It was irrelevant.

‘You’re replacing me with Phil, world’s worst father.’ This was not, of course, my current view of Phil, but it reflected Rosie’s comments prior to their reconciliation. Accuracy was not my priority right now.

‘I guess he must have been,’ said Rosie. ‘Look how I’ve turned out. A mess who can’t make a marriage work and is going to be a single parent like he was.’

Repeating patterns. One rainy morning, after Rosie had rejected my first offer of marriage, I had ridden to the university club to try again, as I was trying again now. But on that occasion I had a plan—a better plan than the sunk-cost fallacy.

Three passengers walked down the aisle.

‘The plane is about to depart,’ I said.

‘So you have to get off,’ said Rosie.

‘There are numerous reasons for remaining in New York.’ I was improvising, not giving up, though I knew that the probability that Rosie would be convinced by anything I could think of now was minimal. ‘Number One is the prestige of the Columbia medical program, which—’

‘All electronic devices must now be switched off.’

It was probably better for my sanity that Rosie stopped me.

‘Don, I so appreciate what you’re trying to do, but think about it. You’re not really engaged with this baby. Not emotionally. You’re engaged with me. I believe that, I believe that you love me, but it’s not what I need right now. Please, just go home. I’ll Skype you as soon as I arrive.’

Rosie, unfortunately, was essentially correct. Claudia was right about her motivation and no rational argument would change her decision. Bud was still a theoretical construction in my mind. I could not fool Rosie that I was emotionally configured as a father. I pushed the call button. A flight attendant (male, estimated BMI twenty-one) appeared almost instantly.

‘Can I help?’

‘I need to get off the plane. I’ve changed my mind about flying.’

‘I’m sorry, we’ve closed the doors. We’re about to taxi.’

The man sitting in the aisle seat next to me offered his support. ‘Let him off. Please.’

‘I’m sorry, we’d have to unload bags. You’d delay the flight for everyone. You’re not ill, are you?’

‘I don’t have bags. Not even carry-on.’

‘I’m truly sorry, sir.’

‘Passengers and crew please take their seats.’