One day, when he’s ready to face the consequences and be totally alone, he’ll squeeze it out of her. He’ll get to the bottom of the woman who never cries for her husband and doesn’t have a single reminder of him around the house. The woman who remembers everyone’s birthday, and their fucking dog’s birthday, when her friend’s great-niece’s exam results are due. She volunteers in the charity shop, at the WRVS. She sends boxes full of pants and socks and soap to the forces at Christmas. She knits blankets for babies in the Trevor Mann ICU. She leaks compassion and thoughtfulness. It drips out of the TENA Lady urine-control pads that George knows she wears because he saw her try to hide them in the trolley when they went shopping.

She cries over a broken cup, a ‘lonely robin’. She sobs when she spills milk, so why the fuck doesn’t she cry for her dead husband? Why doesn’t she ever go to his grave and weep, and where are all the photos? Where is her wedding ring? Where is any proof he was ever there at all?

That is what George wants to unravel, not the jumper. Not today, though. He’s hot and hungry and he wants a cup of tea and a piece of fruit loaf after his sandwich. He wants to go back to his gardening.

How can he fix this? He can’t knit them back to where they were ten minutes ago. He can’t say sorry. All he can do is stand there awkwardly.

Poppy sighs from her nest on top of Betty’s coat. Super-sausage-dog to the rescue once again. She gets up with a yap, then trots over and starts attacking the remains of Don’s jumper. She growls at it and tugs at it with her teeth. She barks at Lucky, who stops licking his paw and comes over for a sniff, before cocking his leg and doing a long, steaming piss over the remains of one sleeve. It goes on and on and on and all George can do is watch.

Betty snorts first, slaps her hand over her mouth to stifle it, but it’s there and it’s marvellous. George tries to choke back his mirth as it rises and erupts from inside, a volcano bursting lava. Within seconds they are both bent double, George leaning on his spade for support while Betty dabs at her eyes with the bottom of her Hawaiian shirt. ‘Oh, stone me, strike me pink,’ Betty wheezes. ‘Bring in the dancing lobsters.’

Dan

(The morning after the night before)