Saturday is a day for getting things sorted out around the house but because I am so pissed off about lunch I decide to head out for a run. I put on my black Lycra shorts and my new Lycra top that has a special mesh flap at the back of the neck for added ventilation. I haven’t tried it out yet but a very young sales assistant in 53 Degrees North has assured me that I will not regret my decision to purchase this. I try not to focus too much on the fact that it has set me back almost a hundred euro. I have to be worth such extravagance. If you don’t love yourself then how can you expect anyone else to love you? And looking good helps.

I walk into the room in my gear to tell Jenny that I am going for a run. She has her head down and she has what looks like a small knife in her grip. She is scraping bits of paint away from a canvas and then wiping the paint on to an old sheet scrap. There’s a certain strength there in her arms. I call her name again. I wonder how is it that Jenny cannot hear me despite the fact that I am standing right beside her. I tap my finger on her desk and she looks at me.

I jump lightly from one foot to another as if I’m giving her a taster of how I will perform.

She tells me she has a headache.

I’m not sure exactly what this means. I know that it is meant to signify more than the fact that Jenny is suffering from a sore head. There’s more to it than that. There has to be. I ask her straight out if she’s taking her medications these days. Her answer is loose as it always is. It isn’t easy being evasive and in a way I admire her for her ability.

Without telling Jenny what I am about to do I go upstairs to the bathroom and I turn on the light. I select a scissors and take hold of my beard with my left hand. I give it a good pull as though I am removing a grey pubic hair. I breathe. I fog the mirror up and I can’t see my face. It has disappeared behind my breath. The bathroom feels ghostly now, as if something bad is about to happen. I think of the open packet of smoked salmon downstairs in the fridge. There is roughly half left. If we don’t eat it for dinner tonight I will have to throw it out. I cannot risk poisoning my family, it simply isn’t worth a saving of approximately eight euro and ninety-nine cent.