Separate Evenings

On Monday I picked up my phone seven times to tell Gethin things that could wait until Wednesday.

A customer had approved a proof upside down. The café by work had replaced its excellent sandwiches with a smaller sandwich described as generous. I had found the second earring in my purse after searching the kitchen for it, forgetting he had already given it back.

None of those things mattered. Their usual destination did.

He did not write. I resented him for obeying me until I caught myself, then went back to work and trimmed a stack of cards with more attention than they needed.

At six Fenna rang.

“Do you fancy a walk tomorrow?” she asked. “I’ve been looking at numbers all day. If I look at another one, I may start charging it rent.”

I said yes before considering whether I ought to sound less grateful.

“No programmes,” she…