‘But how was Michael?’ said Cleo. ‘He was nice. Quite quiet. I mean, we couldn’t talk much because the rain was so loud, and I was shouting and swearing at him, but he seemed like a nice man.’ ‘He is a nice man,’ said Cleo. ‘He is,’ said Marnie, ‘very nice,’ and fell silent, because niceness was something that was both rare and also hard to talk about.
