Tuesday night, in the kitchen

Woman 1: “Look, don’t worry about it- you know you’re right, I know you’re right and so if anyone else thinks differently, they can just fuck off”

Woman 2: “I know, I know, but it’s hard not to worry that people will be all ‘nerr’ about it behind my back – I know they won’t but you can’t help but worry if you’ve opened your big gob AGAIN”

W1: “stop worrying about it and drink your wine… Where are the mushrooms?”

W2: “In the cupboard on the left of the oven. So, what EXACTLY did the email say? Was it like ‘I’m asking because I’m interested’ or ‘I’m asking because secretly I just want to know what’s going with her because I’m a nosey bitch’?”

W1: “ No no no, it was really nice and just out of concern for you. Honestly. … argh, where’s the fucking pepper… ah here it is. Literally, they can just bugger the shit off if they think you’ve done it wrong. Work-people are always a nightmare anyway, so just don’t worry about it. ”

W2: “Well, its not like I’ve paraded it around or anything, or rubbed it in anyone’s face, or pissed anyone off knowingly, so I sort of feel like its not really anyone’s business, you know? I wonder if I should email the group and say something like ‘thank you for being so concerned about me, but its all ok, and I got the promotion and no one minds blah de blah’ to shut them all up? Where’s the rest of the wine?”

W1: “fridge”

W2: “cool, fags?”

W1: “table”

W1: “It’s like what happened to me with the whole ‘sarah-moving-departments’ nightmare, and its all fine now, you just find out which people are twats and which people you know you can rely on next time. And if they’re twatty about it, then whatevs man. Stuff like that always comes out in the wash and the people who were horrible always come out worse off. Just play it calm and nice”

W2: “Fine, you’re right. I know that really, I just want to punch people in the face when they react so badly to stuff like that… Do we want to put chilli in this, or shall we just stick to garlic and stuff?”

W1: “ooh chilli, good idea… yeah, I know, but just remember you’re the one who got it, you deserved it and you earned it fair and square. If anyone wants to say different, they can suck your balls, you know?”

W2: “fair point. SO, more wine? And tell me about what that bloke said when you bumped into him on the tube the other night.”

Sunday Evening

He had never thought about it much before, but sitting in the garden, drinking gin and tonics with her made him feel a little bit sad.

It was warm and sunny, about 7pm, so the light was really nice. Those annoying little bug things were flying about in the evening haze, telling you it was summer.

He was really tired, to tell you the truth, but it was so simple to sit in that easy silence with her that he didn't bother to mention it.

The debris of a day in the sun lay about them, a newpaper, blanket and plate warzone. Tiny cigarette butt soldiers storming the borders.

These are the moments when you're supposed to feel most at peace, idling away the few remaining moments of the weekend, but he felt rather maudlin. He knew the next logical thing to do was tidy away the crap, have a shower and watch Sunday telly in bed. Obligatory lazy sex could be in order, which, whilst not entirely unappealing, would require an enthusiasm and communication he wasnt sure he could muster.

Having a shower would wash off the little green bugs squished on his skin, and the smell of the wood torches, the aura of the day. Knowing that sitting there with her was a finite pleasure, a short spell before the cacophonic sounds of everything else came back in to his audio focus was almost too much to bear. He felt pretty fucking sad about it.

Disrupting that peacefully mournful silence, she said 'shall we go inside?'.

So, seemingly without moving his lips, he said 'yeah, go on then. I could do with a shower'.