He strides across the room, ignoring your sentences. “I’ll chat to you about the job tomorrow?” You say, almost as a question. He waves an arm, mouth full of food, and leaves the room. You have tried to talk for several nights, but he has been preoccupied. A child is crying upstairs. He is rarely ever in; tonight he is on his phone in the kitchen, calls out and asks you to go. You head up, because that’s what you do. Your daughter wants a cuddle. You settle her, stroking her curls, and go to bed alone.
F.C. MALBY 