He almost leapt out of his boots as Gladys’s stinging voice sliced through the air. ‘Charming, I’m sure.’ Her tone was unmistakeably acerbic and accusing. ‘I fall in behind the horse now, do I? Well, I have to say, I’m not surprised. Her intelligence is about at your level, so I suppose you’ve something in common.’

Without knowing where they came from, alien words now fell from Eric’s mouth. ‘That’s as may be, but you’ve a face like a horse’s behind,’ he muttered and then, instantly regretting it, finished his words with an exaggerated cough.

‘What’s that?’ said Gladys.

He took a long deep breath and turned to face his wife’s puckered grey lips and fake orange cheeks. Her dyed black hair with its tight curls lay almost flat against her scalp.

‘Is it true, you gave that Peggy Nolan on Nelson Street milk? I know it is, so don’t try denying it. I’ve done the accounts today and there’s two pints missing and two ticks in Nelson Street not crossed and accounted for from last week.’

Eric sighed. He’d given Peggy the milk a few days ago and, of course, she hadn’t paid as she had promised and he’d done it in secret, without telling Maggie.

‘I thought you were off to your sister who lives on the Wirral?’ he said, attempting to change the subject.

‘Eric, we have been married for twenty-five years. Her name is Pauline. Why do you insist on calling her “your sister who lives on the Wirral”? Is it because it bothers you that she married a man who can keep her in a lifestyle I can only dream of?’

Gladys knew how to deliver maximum hurt in the fewest words possible to cut him down to size and leave him speechless. Pauline, the younger sister, had married Dennis, a bank clerk from Hoylake who, following the war when there was a general shortage of men, rose quickly through the ranks despite his mediocrity, to become manager at the Hoylake branch he had worked in before he was called up. Milkman, bank manager; Daisy, Austin Seven; detached house, end-terrace dairy. Pauline and Dennis lived on a tree-lined street that ran down to the shore while Eric and Gladys lived a stone’s throw from the docks and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t match the lifestyle of the bank manager.

With a glance at his wife, Eric lifted Daisy Bell’s water bucket, slipped back the bolt on the stable door and pushed it open, forcing Gladys to step backwards as he carried the bucket to the outside tap. He had intended to say, ‘Sorry, Gladys,’ as she stepped back, but instead he kept his mouth closed.

‘You stupid idiot, you almost knocked me over there. Close the stable door behind you,’ barked Gladys and banged the door shut, spooking Daisy Bell.