Maybe, I think, just maybe tonight I’m in luck

I’M sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a blank Word Document when my husband returns from town.

He removes a carton of milk from the fridge door shelf and pours milk into a glass. Afterwards, he places the milk carton into the saucepan cupboard. This is odd. This is odd for anyone, I think.

There is something peculiarly energised about his movements around the kitchen. There’s a weird spring in his step. My daughter enters the kitchen.