‘Why did you take the case on, then?’ His voice was lowered but hardened. ‘Isn’t it enough that we have to deal with you going back to work?’

Finally – we get to the real problem.

‘What do you mean, we have to deal with it,’ retorted Claire. ‘You don’t have to deal with anything! As usual, it’s all me – I’m the one who now works full-time and deals with everything at home!’

‘You’re joking!’ Chris laughed, sarcastically. ‘Lucy does everything!’

‘Who do you think tells Lucy what to do?’ Claire’s voice was escalating now but she didn’t care. She was fed up of being the one to think of everything. To do everything. During the weekends when Lucy was off, who was the one cleaning and washing? She was. Of course, Chris would never think to clean up after himself. Chris was happy for her to go back to work just as long as it fit in with his life. Well, she was tired of fitting in. They stared at each other, both shocked at Claire’s raised voice and for moment, amongst her anger, she felt a pinprick of anxiety. But then she didn’t care any more.

‘Your meal – which I’ve made for you – is in the oven – you can serve yourself and the boys. I’m going for a lie-down.’ She turned on her heels and marched upstairs and only when she was alone in the bedroom with the door firmly closed did she let the tears flow.

*

Claire woke an hour later, disorientated. It was only when she felt Chris’s lips on her forehead that she remembered their argument. In the dim evening light, she saw her husband’s outline. He sat down on the bed and she inched her body back slightly to make room for him.

‘I’m sorry, I’m an idiot,’ he started. ‘I shouldn’t have told your mother. She called me, I was in the middle of something, I wasn’t thinking…’ He trailed off.

Claire pulled herself up. Chris handed her the cup.

‘Here, I made you some tea,’ he said needlessly.

‘Thanks,’ murmured Claire, forcing herself awake.

‘Do you forgive me?’ said Chris and for the second time she was reminded of a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Sipping her tea, she didn’t reply straight away. She looked at Chris and saw, like always, that he believed he simply had to apologise, and everything would be forgotten. Things would just go back to the way they were. Claire knew that if they were going to work as a family, Chris needed to support her career now as much as she’d supported his.

‘Will you help me a bit more in going back to work?’ she asked now.

‘I do—’