It is only later as we lie in bed, our bodies not touching each other, that I want to hold her – to tell her the truth, but instead I turn away. We are separate beings. I drift asleep. It is close to dawn when I begin to wake and I know that she has been crying because even though my eyes are not fully opened I can feel her eyes on mine. And yet she says nothing and the melancholic blood of the wine is still there, potent in the bedroom, her breath.

19. Party

June 2017

I arrive home from work to find Jenny in the kitchen staring out the window into the back garden. Her shoulders are hunched as if she is protecting herself from attack. I don’t know when exactly she started allowing her posture to slip.

I call her and she ignores me at first, the dishwasher is on and the clink and spray is quite noisy. I place my hands on her shoulders. She turns around to face me. Her skin seems thinner than it normally is on her face.

You scared me, Des, she says.

I wonder who in the name of God does she expect to appear in the kitchen. I’m not in the habit of frightening my wife. I explain to her that we are going out, that we need this. She mentions that she has a loin of pork roasting in the oven and I press my forefinger gently to her lips. They feel strangely hot and I imagine that lips should normally be cool. I tell her not to worry about the pork and that I have a babysitter booked.

She goes upstairs to get ready and I call the kids in from the green. They are not one bit happy about it so I bribe them with tortilla chips. I climb the stairs to see how Jenny looks and while I am about it I go into the bathroom and I douse myself in Hugo Boss. I am reeking. The doorbell sounds and I don’t have time to check on Jenny. I go back downstairs and open the door to Caroline, the babysitter. She seems nervous and I tell her that she has very little to do really beyond watching TV and eating biscuits. It’s the first time I’ve used Caroline and we haven’t discussed rates, so I get to the point straight away. I make it clear that I am unwilling to fork out eleven euro an hour for her to have the privilege of eating me out of biscuits and I manage to get her to agree on eight. I feel slightly mean doing this to her, but she has a choice, she can always go home. As we are leaving I can tell that she’s not happy about it so I say, see you later, in a singsong voice.