She stood in the kitchen and she was looking at the coffee percolator, I guessed in an effort not to make eye contact with me, to hold on to the tension for a bit, after our earlier argument. The half pot of cold coffee from that morning was on the hot plate. The filter bag was full of old ground coffee covered with traces of bubbles. I started to prepare some baked beans and toast for us. I needed soakage because I had left half my bag of chips on the footpath. I realized in that instant that the radio was still on. Late-night come-down music competed with the Stone Roses from the stereo. I turned off the radio, opened the fridge, and scoured the shelves for booze. My movements seemed to ease the bad feeling that was between us.

I asked her if she wanted a beer and she said that she had drunk enough and would love a cup of tea.

I couldn’t be bothered with making tea at such a late hour. I opened a bottle of beer and I began to pull Jenny to me. I started to kiss her but she didn’t seem terribly forthcoming.

I apologized for arguing with her earlier on, I apologized about losing the head with her about Jerome. I apologized for having a go at the lads at the chipper. I was defending her, I assured her. I didn’t like the way they were talking about her. I spoke of my bravery.

I reached out to touch her face.

She moved away from me slightly and said to forget the tea, that she would have a beer after all.

I wasn’t keen on getting her a drink. I had lost my taste for my own beer at that stage but I went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Corona.

Things weren’t going the way that I had envisaged. The whole night seemed all of a sudden to have become interminable what with the Polish bar, Sound House, Jerome, the chipper. Jenny perched herself on the high stool at the counter and smoked a cigarette. The smoke seemed potent in the flat.

We were both wrecked and I suggested that we hit the sack.