Reaching for her phone, she jabbed her finger on to the button that would silence the alarm, having no choice other than to admit she was awake: her face squashed into the soft pillow, the pull of her bladder, which needed emptying, and her husband’s rumbling snore, which ended with the smack of his lips. And yet she lay perfectly still, hoping pointlessly for five more minutes of escape.

Admitting defeat, she opened her eyes and rolled on to her back and, with her nightdress rucked around her middle, stared up at the ceiling and the three-arm ivory-coloured chandelier decorated with snaking leaves. The addition had seemed like a good idea when she thumbed through the interior design magazine in the newsagent’s, looking for inspiration, convincing Mario that it was all the rage. Now, though, with its bare candle bulbs and plastic droplets that from a distance looked like glass, she thought it a bit too grand and out of place in the cosy bedroom of their dormer bungalow. Not that she would ever admit this to her husband, who had taken a bit of persuading that at one hundred and fifteen quid it was what the article had described as ‘an investment piece’ – money he felt would have been better put towards a new mattress. A year or so back they had considered a replacement, but she had fallen at the final hurdle at the mere thought of giving up her beloved bed, refusing to upgrade because she knew it was the little imperfections and familiarity that gave her the best night’s sleep. A new, firmer example without the comfortable dip in which her hip lodged and without the lingering essence of its history would not be the same at all. Mario didn’t get it, but then Mario didn’t get lots of things.

She smarted at the resounding fart that now poisoned her atmosphere, making her jaw tense and her nose wrinkle.

‘Was that you or the dog?’ She nudged her husband with her right foot, her toes sliding against his wide, hairy calf.

‘I know it’s an awful thing to say,’ Mario mumbled, ‘but I honestly don’t know.’ He chuckled until the duvet shook. Bess did not find it so amusing and felt the squeak of her back teeth as she ground her upper and lower jaw with irritation. She looked at Chutney, their dark, leggy mongrel, snoring peacefully in the wide space between them on the bed.