She picks up the nail varnish and looks at him. ‘One day, I’d like a place of our own, of course I would, but each month without us paying rent, we’ve got a bit more in savings. There’s no hurry, Robert and Howard are sweethearts.’ There’s a gentle tick-tick-tick as Gloria shakes the bottle. She laughs. ‘Do you remember just after we were married, and I asked Howard how he’d fallen in love with Robert?’

‘And he went the same colour as the tomato ketchup.’

Gloria laughs again, the gurgly, lush laugh that William wants to record he loves it so much. ‘And Robert leapt up and started washing up, even though we hadn’t finished eating.’

As a child, long before he understood their relationship, William knew, without any displays of physical affection, that Robert and Howard belonged to each other. When Howard put on one of his funny voices – Donald Duck, Popeye, Bugs Bunny – William saw the change in Robert’s eyes, a visible softening. He and Gloria laughed in private that Howard still owned a house a few streets away, still had his mail delivered there, still spent a couple of nights there each week. But it sometimes makes William sad that they feel the need to keep so much of their lives hidden.

‘Stick the radio on, William,’ Gloria says.

He finishes wiping down the table, throws the paper towels in the bin, walks to the radio on the window ledge. It’s the Jackson 5, ‘I’ll Be There’, and Gloria immediately joins in. William waits a moment, then harmonises. The mortuary is the only place he’ll sing. Unlike him, Gloria can move her head to the music without it affecting the careful strokes of nail varnish. The DJ’s banter washes over them for few minutes.

‘We’re invited to a christening,’ Gloria says, ‘Paula at work. I’d like to go to this one.’

‘You sure?’ He turns, holding the disinfectant to his chest.

‘I like Paula.’ Gloria is bent over, her face near the nails, but now she sits up straight, holding the brush over the bottle. ‘And it’s what people our age do, celebrate when friends have a baby.’

William kneels to put the container away in the cupboard. His back to her, he tries to slacken his jaw. Gloria doesn’t miss a thing; she knows every physical manifestation of his inner world. She screws the top on the bottle, returns it to the basket, walks over to him and bends down to kiss his forehead.

‘I’m going to this one, and if you’d rather not, fine. But don’t try and stop me.’ She ruffles his hair. ‘I’ll see you when you’re done.’ Her slippers slap her feet as she leaves. William remains crouched before the cupboard, the slow, heavy mingle of guilt and frustration in his gut.