“I thought you were going for an early night?” he said as he came up behind her, leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“I took some headache pills and I’m feeling better now.”

“The wine won’t help.” Disapproval knotted his brow.

“You’re probably right.” She took a large sip and looked back at the television.

The springs groaned with age as Hugh sank onto the couch next to her and lifted her legs into his lap. Her hip was now angled uncomfortably and she shifted a little, trying to straighten out, but he pulled her legs closer in, oblivious to her discomfort.

“Your feet are as cold as ice,” he said, making it sound like an accusation, and took one in his hands to rub it. Helen wanted to pull away, but forced herself to endure the affection. “Are we still on for dinner on Friday evening? I’ll book.” He said this as though either of them might have alternative plans, but every Friday evening for the last seven years they had gone out for dinner. A date night, if you will, but always to the same Italian restaurant in the village where he ordered the same dishes off the menu for them both and they were usually home by 10 p.m.

“Sure, go ahead and book,” Helen replied, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she felt.

“Actually, I might have some of that cheese in the fridge. Are there any crackers?” he said.

“Yes, in the cupboard.”

Helen washed down the sigh in her throat with more wine as he left the room. He hadn’t offered her any cheese and crackers. Not that she wanted any, but the offer would be nice. Outside, beyond the window, Helen could hear the sea in the near distance, crashing and churning against the rocks. She wanted to head out there, take a long walk on the beach in the pitch black. Nothing but the biting wind and the stinging sea spray reminding her that she was actually alive.

Hugh returned with his plate of cheese and crackers in one hand and a glass of the merlot in the other.

“I thought I’d join you,” he said proudly, as though he was doing her a favour by saving her from drinking alone. “You’re leading me astray.”

Helen smiled, her lips pressed tight to her teeth.

It wasn’t long before his head was lolling in time to the snores rumbling from his throat, his plate of crumbs abandoned on the coffee table next to the glass of wine he hadn’t finished.

In all the years they had been married, Helen could count on one hand how many times he had managed to stay awake past 11 p.m.