The coat was too broad across Mladen's shoulders and much softer than his own. Vida noticed as soon as he put it on. She said they had given him someone else's. He looked towards the cloakroom attendant, a young woman surrounded by people who had all decided to leave at once. He shrugged and fastened a button. Vida thought he had not heard. She repeated it more quietly, moving close to his ear. 'I know,' he answered.

They stood in the foyer after the concert to which he had invited her. All evening he had discussed good manners, irritated by phones in the audience and people applauding at the wrong moments. Now he headed towards the exit wearing a coat he had not bought. Vida caught his sleeve and told him to return. He replied that the cloakroom could hardly remember who had left what, and nobody would be without clothing because his coat was still there.

Behind them a distressed man explained that his car key was in his coat pocket. The attendant searched the tags, growing redder. Mladen put his hand in the pocket, felt the key, and continued towards the door. That little movement decided the evening. Vida stopped holding him. She turned and said loudly enough to be heard, 'I think you're looking for this coat.'

Mladen acted surprised. He spoke about similar colours and crowds, trying to laugh off the misunderstanding. The man took the coat and recognised a scratch on its button. The attendant apologised. Mladen told her to be more careful next time. Vida looked at him, then told the woman that he had already admitted knowing about the exchange. The smile with which he tried to end the conversation remained on his face a few moments too long.

Outside he accused her of humiliating him before strangers. Vida stood in her ordinary coat, buttoned to her neck. She had not known that after eight months together she would learn most about him beside a cloakroom. She said she had not taken his dignity, only someone else's clothing. She had no wish to debate whose coat it was or how wealthy its owner might be.

She called a taxi and left alone. The following day Mladen sent a photograph of his own coat label as proof that it had not been cheap either. She studied the message, realising that in his version of the conversation they were still negotiating the value of things. She replied that she did not want to continue the relationship. She did not save the photograph. She did save the taxi receipt, because she needed to calculate that month's expenses.