‘What?’

‘I didn’t ask you to work so hard. I’d rather not have the extra money if you’re going to spend it all on yourself.’

‘The car is for us!’

‘Rubbish. It’s a status symbol.’

‘That’s not true!’ He slammed his hand on the table. ‘I want us to see the country, as a family. Start to enjoy being here.’

‘I don’t want to see the country.’

‘You are the most ungrateful—’

‘I can’t be grateful for something I don’t want!’

‘You’re unbelievable.’

‘Am I? For wanting a say over how we live? Where we live?’ She threw her arms up. ‘Can’t you see, I can never be happy in this country? Don’t you care about that?’

‘Do you really think you’d be happy if we went home?’

She stared at him. ‘I was happy before we got here.’

‘We weren’t married long before we got here. Maybe it’s us that’s wrong. Maybe we’d be in trouble wherever we lived.’

He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t known he even thought it until he heard himself say it. He lit another cigarette, just to occupy his hands, to avoid looking at her.

‘Is that what you think?’ She sounded hurt.

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘You think we’re the problem? You and me?’

‘I just meant.’ He reached for the whisky bottle and poured himself a glass. ‘I think we’d likely have the same set of problems if we went back home. Running home’s not the answer.’

‘You’d still drink too much in England, you mean?’

He drained the glass in one. ‘Don’t start.’

‘You remind me of your father lately, you know that?’

‘I said, don’t start!’

She picked up the bottle, which was nearly empty, and held it up for him to see. ‘That’s gone down quick, Joe. Aren’t you meant to be saving?’

He snatched the bottle from her – too hard, too rough – and slammed it down on the table. ‘If I can’t have a drink in my own home –’

‘You’re drunk.’

‘Can you blame me?’

She started crying then. He was drunk, it was true, and he wanted her to leave him alone so he could finish the bottle in peace.

‘Don’t cry.’ He stood beside her and reached for her hand. ‘Come on. It’s late, and we’ve both said things we shouldn’t have.’

‘I meant everything I said.’ She was crying hard. ‘Is there any chance, Joe? Any chance we could go home? Would you consider it, one more time?’

‘No.’ He held her by her arms. ‘This is where we live. This place is home for us, for our family. We need to make the best of it.’

She pulled away from him, more forcefully than she needed to. ‘I’m going to bed.’

Joe waited for the bedroom door to shut behind her and then he reached again for the whisky, drank it down from the bottle in quick, painful gulps. The kitchen turned dark. His head was full of things he wanted to say to her, now she was gone. He moved into the hallway and leaned against the wall next to the bedroom door. The bed shifted under her weight and he thought of her lying there, angry with him, thinking she was hard done by because he wouldn’t let her go home to bloody England. She didn’t know how lucky she was. She let him work himself into the ground and then she threw everything he did for her back in his face.