Elaine heard the front door shut and squared her shoulders as if waiting to begin a fight. But George wouldn’t fight. George never fought about anything.

He would give her his wounded soldier look, his baffled schoolboy look, or his ‘What have I done to deserve this?’ look. She carried on mashing the potatoes. George entered the kitchen. Summoning every resource she had, Elaine put a smile on her face and looked at her husband.

‘Hello, George. Sit yourself down, the meal’s nearly ready.’

She saw George’s right eyebrow rise and forced herself to carry on mashing.

He sat in his usual seat at the table. The white Formica table that they had bought from MFI aeons ago. When white Formica tables had been important to them.

‘Have a good day?’ She was determined to be friendly.

Oh yes, Elaine, George thought, I had a great day. I was called into Mrs Denham’s office and all but kicked out of the firm on my arse. He put the back of his hand over his mouth. He must stop swearing to himself. One day he would forget and swear at Elaine.

‘Not bad, love. You?’ His voice was low and flat.

She put the mashed potato on the plates next to the pork chops. George watched her as she patted it into shape with her fingers. Then she began to ladle out the peas.

‘I had quite a good day actually, George.’

He allowed himself another lift of the eyebrow. Well, well, well. That was a turn up for the book. Elaine enjoying herself at work . . . If she was to be believed, she ran the whole store single-handed from her till.

‘That’s good, dear.’

Elaine was pouring the gravy and had to stifle an urge to pour it over George’s bald head.

‘That’s nice, dear. That’s good, dear. Hell’s bells, George! I’m your wife. You don’t have to be polite to your own wife.’

George could see the confusion in her face as she looked at him. Elaine was such a difficult woman. He could just imagine the reaction if he told her that she bored the arse off him. That her voice went through his head like a marauding migraine. That he wished she were dead so he could claim the insurance money.

Elaine put his dinner in front of him.

She was still talking, but George was on the special auto pilot he reserved for Elaine’s chatter about work.

‘Anyway, when they asked me . . . I mean, one of the girls had dropped out you see . . . I thought: Why not? I’d love to go to Spain.’

George was in the process of eating a piece of tough pork chop when he realised what she was saying.

‘Spain? Did you say Spain?’ Elaine heard the incredulity in his voice and it annoyed her. What did he think then? That she was not the Spain sort?