‘Move your arse. Now. I need to get ready. The salon’s rammed today and I need to be on time. It’s always me who ends up running around like a headless chicken, and that’s your fault. Why do you need to doll yourself up every bleeding morning to go to work? You don’t see me taking this long do you and I’m in the bloody beauty industry.’

Donny ignored her, fastening the buttons on his shirt and reaching for his aftershave. He wasn’t going to rush. Taking his time, he sprayed it on his face and then added a spritz to his chest for the hell of it. It smelt good – he smelt good – fresh and clean, like washing that had been dried outside on a summer’s day.

‘You should be pleased I like to take care of myself, babe. This here’s the body of a Greek god who has risen from the dead, not some fat slob. It takes time and effort. I’ve had to work hard for it. You’d leave me if I started to pile on the timber. Imagine your kite if I was a big, fat mess,’ his eyebrows arched as he continued. ‘You’re always going on about him next door, that he should take more care of himself. You’d go mad if I looked like him.’

Susan rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, I do know how long it bloody takes.’ Her voice louder now. ‘It takes all the time I should be in here getting ready myself. Every bloody morning. So, do one, pretty boy. And give someone else a chance to take care of themselves.’

Donny chuckled and walked towards his wife, wiggling his hips. He grabbed her round the waist and pulled her close.

As he touched her, the thought of his hands all over another woman came flooding back to Susan, made her stomach churn like a washing machine on a spin cycle.

‘We look good though, don’t we? You and me.’ He held one hand under her chin, turned her face towards the mirror. ‘Posh and Becks have nothing on us two. We’re the ones who should be on the front of Hello! magazine. I might give them a ring and see what they say.’

He poked her in the ribs, made her laugh; the nagging seemed to be over. With a quick peck on the cheek he finally left the bathroom, smirking when he heard her shouting after him, then cringing when the usual refrain pounded his ears like a drill. He mouthed the familiar words in time with her.

‘I’ll pick the wet towels up then, should I? Sometimes, Donny, I swear you just married me so you had a twenty-four-hour cleaning service on tap.’

He never bothered replying. He knew she was right.