that you have lunch dates with."
Lifting an open bottle of red wine from the worktop and filling her glass, Diane shook her head.
The huge clock on the kitchen wall showed it was just after one in the afternoon. Making an obvious point to look at it, Chris lifted his eyebrows and asked, "You're staring already?"
Taking a sip of the wine, Diane's cold eyes regarded him with utter contempt.
He held her stare as his frantic pulse flipped into hyperdrive. Pulling in a deep breath, he then released it slowly, hoping it would remove his anger. It barely touched it. Shaking his head, he said, "Anyway, it's what I know. You're a heartless bitch that only cares about the things money can buy and what your poxy mates think about you."
She leant on the black worktop and stared at him.
Having decided a long time ago that she was dead inside, he was surprised to see her eyes well up. It had been a long time since he'd seen her upset. He lifted his lip in a snarl and added, "Don't start with your crocodile tears. Fucking hell, Diane, I know you better than that." After a moment's pause, his eyes narrowed, his crow's feet wrinkling. "Actually, you know what, now you're upset, I may as well keep going. We have to take the kids out of private school. I can't afford to pay the fees with no fucking money and no chances of a job."
"What about our savings?"
"My savings you mean? You spend, you don't save."
A pout forced her skinny lips away from her face and she said, "You don't think I contribute? How about I go out to work and you keep the house immaculate and raise two children?"
Looking around at the kitchen, Chris said, "You think you could find a job that would pay for all of this?" He looked her up and down. "You could lie on your back with your ankles around your ears all day, and you wouldn't even cover the milkman's bill. You could suck half of the country dry and they'd probably all ask for a refund."
Silence.
"Anyway, if we use the savings now, what will we do when the money runs out? There isn't any work out there, and there may not be for a few years. You really need to open your eyes to what's going on in the world. It's not all coffee and yoga you know."
Stepping back a few paces, Diane pulled a letter from the side and hid it as she walked out of the room.
Wondering if she was holding what he thought she was, Chris told himself not to be so ridiculous. He listened to her open and close the cupboard beneath the stairs. He then returned his attention to the situations vacant section in the local paper. The only job available was for a traffic warden. Pushing it away, he muttered, "I'd rather be a rent boy. What a fucking waste of time."
He looked up to see his wife return to the kitchen. He shivered because the temperature seemed to lower with her reappearance, as if a ghost had just entered the room. It was probably the ghost of their relationship. Before she had a chance to speak, he said, "What now?"
Pulling a huge breath into her skinny body, she shook her head and left the room again. On her way out, a gust of wind caught her strong and sweet perfume, flinging it at Chris. He used to like the smell, but now it made him think of fly spray.
With the dry aftertaste of coffee bedded down on his tongue like moss, and his caffeine-driven pulse pounding in his head, Chris launched his mug at the wall. The crash rang through his sterile home. A moment of calm followed, during which he watched the muddy liquid make its way down the cream wall to the white floor. He was pleased about the mess it was making for his obsessive wife. He then got to his feet and walked out of the front door, the chilly outside breeze hitting him in the face as his whole body snapped tight around the rock in his stomach. He didn't notice Michael and Matilda holding a cake at the bottom of the stairs with Diane behind them.
Sat at the bar of his local pub, Chris looked at the people around him. Everyone wore heavy frowns, had hunched
Lifting an open bottle of red wine from the worktop and filling her glass, Diane shook her head.
The huge clock on the kitchen wall showed it was just after one in the afternoon. Making an obvious point to look at it, Chris lifted his eyebrows and asked, "You're staring already?"
Taking a sip of the wine, Diane's cold eyes regarded him with utter contempt.
He held her stare as his frantic pulse flipped into hyperdrive. Pulling in a deep breath, he then released it slowly, hoping it would remove his anger. It barely touched it. Shaking his head, he said, "Anyway, it's what I know. You're a heartless bitch that only cares about the things money can buy and what your poxy mates think about you."
She leant on the black worktop and stared at him.
Having decided a long time ago that she was dead inside, he was surprised to see her eyes well up. It had been a long time since he'd seen her upset. He lifted his lip in a snarl and added, "Don't start with your crocodile tears. Fucking hell, Diane, I know you better than that." After a moment's pause, his eyes narrowed, his crow's feet wrinkling. "Actually, you know what, now you're upset, I may as well keep going. We have to take the kids out of private school. I can't afford to pay the fees with no fucking money and no chances of a job."
"What about our savings?"
"My savings you mean? You spend, you don't save."
A pout forced her skinny lips away from her face and she said, "You don't think I contribute? How about I go out to work and you keep the house immaculate and raise two children?"
Looking around at the kitchen, Chris said, "You think you could find a job that would pay for all of this?" He looked her up and down. "You could lie on your back with your ankles around your ears all day, and you wouldn't even cover the milkman's bill. You could suck half of the country dry and they'd probably all ask for a refund."
Silence.
"Anyway, if we use the savings now, what will we do when the money runs out? There isn't any work out there, and there may not be for a few years. You really need to open your eyes to what's going on in the world. It's not all coffee and yoga you know."
Stepping back a few paces, Diane pulled a letter from the side and hid it as she walked out of the room.
Wondering if she was holding what he thought she was, Chris told himself not to be so ridiculous. He listened to her open and close the cupboard beneath the stairs. He then returned his attention to the situations vacant section in the local paper. The only job available was for a traffic warden. Pushing it away, he muttered, "I'd rather be a rent boy. What a fucking waste of time."
He looked up to see his wife return to the kitchen. He shivered because the temperature seemed to lower with her reappearance, as if a ghost had just entered the room. It was probably the ghost of their relationship. Before she had a chance to speak, he said, "What now?"
Pulling a huge breath into her skinny body, she shook her head and left the room again. On her way out, a gust of wind caught her strong and sweet perfume, flinging it at Chris. He used to like the smell, but now it made him think of fly spray.
With the dry aftertaste of coffee bedded down on his tongue like moss, and his caffeine-driven pulse pounding in his head, Chris launched his mug at the wall. The crash rang through his sterile home. A moment of calm followed, during which he watched the muddy liquid make its way down the cream wall to the white floor. He was pleased about the mess it was making for his obsessive wife. He then got to his feet and walked out of the front door, the chilly outside breeze hitting him in the face as his whole body snapped tight around the rock in his stomach. He didn't notice Michael and Matilda holding a cake at the bottom of the stairs with Diane behind them.
Sat at the bar of his local pub, Chris looked at the people around him. Everyone wore heavy frowns, had hunched
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