He’ll be home soon. Better get on with fixing dinner. Hang on, who the hell ‘fixes’ dinner apart from characters in American novels and her after he’s had a hearty go at preparing it. Best tidy up first, but not overdo it.
Terry says it’s OK not to dump her shit on him. She tried it already by text this morning. HI. CAN’T FACE WOR… Delete. HIYA. Delete. HEY GONNA GIVE WORK A… Delete. CAN’T FUC…. Delete. HAVE A DECENT DAY. SEE YOU LATER x.
Relax. She doesn’t really text in capital letters. She might be off her head but she’s not THAT deranged.
Christmas tree lights on. Off. On. Having no lights on is too much of a give away. Like the deserted breakfast bowls with rapidly encrusted cereal boasting the stubborn adhesiveness of a fossil. Radio on. Dishes in sink.
[Door slams shut]
Hi. I’m in the kitchen.
How’s it going? Busy day?
Aye. Usual. You?
Did you it make back from work OK?
She suspects he suspects. Maybe it’s because she forgot to put her shoes on. She will maintain a breezy tone.
The road’s been closed since 10 this morning. Pipe-bomb.
He offers to fix dinner.