‘When did you ask me to let you know what time I’d be home?’ he asked. Reaching past her, he retrieved his bag. ‘I need this, got some work to be getting on with.’

‘I asked you when I texted you.’ She slipped her hand into his jacket pocket, pulled out his phone and showed him the screen. ‘Look, an unread message, from me.’

He grabbed the phone back. ‘Bloody hell, Paula! My life is a world of shit all day long at work; is it too much to ask to have a few minutes’ peace when I get in before you start attacking me?’

She swallowed hard. ‘Sorry, sweetie. You go and sit down, I’ll put the steaks on.’

With a nod, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘That sounds like a plan,’ he said, and strode into the lounge.

Deflated somewhat, Paula returned to the kitchen and began to prepare the steaks. She thought of her friend from the gym, Alexa, whose husband loved nothing more than cooking for her, and who seemed to text and ring her all the time. She wondered what that might be like, tried to visualise it.

But what did it really matter? Tommy worked all day; Paula stayed at home. The least she could do for him was serve up a decent meal at the end of his more-often-than-not twelve-hour shifts. Plus, their marriage was absolutely fine. So, he didn’t cook. Sometimes, when he missed his connecting train, he would wander around Liverpool Street station and come home – albeit late – bearing flowers, or a piece of jewellery, or a slice of cake from that expensive place just outside the upper level. Her worry at his lateness would fade, replaced by a rush of love at his kindness.

She shot a look towards the lounge as she heard the television come on.

She uncorked a bottle of red and poured two glasses. She threw hers back before carefully carrying the other one through and presenting it to him.

Later, steaks eaten and wine drunk, Paula looked at Tommy. He had the recliner all the way back, his leg slung over the arm. His tie was loose and his face relaxed for the first time since he had come home.

She chewed on the skin around her thumbnail. It shouldn’t be this difficult to start an important conversation with him. He was chilled out right now, with a full stomach, and he’d been warmed by the wine. It should have been easy to slide into the talk she wanted to have with him.

‘What’s up?’ he asked, catching her staring.