‘Right. I’m off. Don’t forget you’ve got an interview at two,’ she said.
‘Yeah yeah…’
She stopped at the living room door, turned and stared at her husband, sprawled along the couch in T-shirt and boxers.
‘And don’t lie there playing all day.’
‘I won’t,’ Jake said.
‘I mean it. You better not screw up this time, I recommended you.’
‘I’ll be there. Go to work.’
She looked him over. ‘You’d be off that couch quick enough for one of the neighbours.’
‘Don’t start that again.’ He scratched. ‘Actually I might see if one of them is going into town later, maybe get a lift.’
‘Yeah, which one?
’
‘Well, I don’t know yet, do I?’
‘Hmm. I’ll be late tonight,’ she said.
‘Again?’
‘There’s some of last night’s dinner in the fridge.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Whose name Jake? My boss’s name? The person I work for, the person who holds a sword over our finances, is that what you’re asking?’
‘Okay, I get it. You’re working late.’
‘Yeah.’ She spun round and marched out. He listened to the front door close, a half-hearted thud then a second, louder slam.