Lipstick on your collar. That’s what I saw.
You said it was grease from the engine. Left there when one of the pistons went, on the way to Rotherham. That’s why you had to stay away the night.
Think I’m daft? I recognise lipstick when I see it.
But you can’t see it any more. Lying on the floor, your sightless eyes beseeching me to believe that you weren’t having an affair. Weren’t yet another man cheating on his post-natal wife.
I put the knife in the sink with the breakfast washing up.
We need bread and loo roll today. I come back and rummage in your pockets, looking for the car keys.
Frown when I pull out a show ticket. “The Rocky Horror Show?”