“What’s with the cathedral thingy?” She had held it between her finger and thumb, turning it over in the light.

“From that trip we took.” I had squinted at her. “You know?”

“What trip?”

“When was it, three months ago, something like that.” I shrugged. “We went on that horrendous walking tour and then I nearly fell in when we went punting.” I mime the action as I creep toward her.

“I… I… don’t remember.”

“Of course you do. We drove down there. You said you’d never been, and I told you that was ridiculous and so we jumped in the car.”

Megan shook her head and looked at me, her head tilted a little. When we had first met, I’d found the action endearing, like a confused spaniel; now I just think she looks like an imbecile.

“We went to that fancy place for afternoon tea and then we were going to visit the Roman Museum but that pigeon had its accident on your hair and so we went and got drunk instead.” I watched tears welling in her eyes that she was desperate to blink away. She didn’t want me to worry. Didn’t want me to think, so soon after the wedding, that she might be damaged, might not be perfect. It was kind of sweet in a way.

* * *

For a month last year I did nothing but turn her alarm clock off at night. So simple, but so effective. I don’t sleep much and so I would normally be awake when she was fast asleep. It was as easy as flicking a switch. The first morning she berated herself, cursing as she rushed around to get ready for work and not miss the train. The next morning she cursed herself more harshly. I was the perfect gentleman who offered to drive her to the station so she wouldn’t have to walk and could use the extra few minutes to run through the shower. The next night I heard her in the bedroom, repeating over and over to herself that she had put the alarm on before she turned out the lights.

In week two of this little assault, I let the alarm go off on Monday and Tuesday. Lulled her into a false sense of security. She had a big presentation on Wednesday, some kind of pitch to a new client that she’d been stressing over for the whole weekend. I wanted to go the whole hog, but in the end her job is rather lucrative, and life would be more difficult for everyone if she got fired. So I did the gentlemanly thing once more and set my alarm.

“I know how important today is to you,” I’d said as I held her in my arms and rocked her gently. She was so fucking grateful it almost broke my heart.

Another week went past and the alarm failed to go off almost every night. Eventually, and it look longer than I thought it would, to be honest, she had broken down and begged for my help. As I had stroked her hair and wiped her tears, I’d promised her we’d come up with a plan. My poor broken wife, her pretty green eyes red-ringed, dainty nose running, shivering in my arms. Just thinking about that night still sends a shiver up my spine and makes the hairs on my arms start to rise.