You know me, Jack. You know what I’m like. You know that I can’t wait for anything. I must open things immediately, ripping off the wrappers and devouring instructions – with surgical gloves that I keep under the sink for unblocking the drains, of course, because you can’t be too careful. You’ll know that the first thing I do when the delivery van has left is to break the lock on the leather holdall and pull out your papers. The visas and the photograph of you and the kids. The business cards with a thick rubber band around them – you’re still old school – and the Manila file that holds the record of your life. I flick through, even though I’ve seen it all before: birth certificate, our marriage certificate and our decree absolute. You’re the petitioner, of course. Family arrangement documents. Various embassy documents and the address of your cheating fucking solicitor. You like to keep them all together when you travel, I remember that only too well. A whole year, you’ve been away, and nothing’s changed. You still bundle everything together and lock it away.

I reach deeper into the bag and pull out a black leather briefcase. I’ve seen it lots of times, even touched it once or twice. But I’ve never actually been alone with it. You made sure of that. I don’t know what’s in here, but I know it’s something you didn’t want me to see. Something important that you carry everywhere with you. Something that disappeared when I needed to prove what a piece of shit you were.

I linger a little, reading the section of our divorce papers where you turned on me. After everything you did, you crucified me.

The petitioner feels that the respondent has imagined or manufactured a set of baseless accusations and has persecuted the petitioner unreasonably. The petitioner would like to stress that there is no basis to the claim of adultery and that a divorce be granted on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour.

No basis? We’ll see if there’s no basis. I’m waiting, checking the clock for the twenty-five minutes until your cases are delivered to you. I imagine your face when you realise that I have your precious possessions. I hope you panic and ring the delivery company, trying to explain how important it is that I don’t get my hands on whatever is in this briefcase.