orange sunlight as he beamed down at her with a smile that appeared to encapsulate all the love, hope and kindness in the world. ‘Oh, am I late? I hadn’t noticed. Well, why isn’t the train here? What the fuck is it delayed for? I get so cross with these train people. All it takes is the press of a little button by a driver’s thumb to operate these machines; why is it so difficult?’ Mr Jenkins replied. There was a pause. ‘And, now I think of it, whilst no one’s about, open your blouse,’ Mr Jenkins demanded blankly, not looking at Mrs Horsewill. Mrs Horsewill did as she was told; she knew the drill.Mr Jenkins cheated at bridge, and seeing as she was his partner and, since her femininity was a useful device to use in order to achieve false success, she didn’t see why she shouldn’t co-operate. When bridge was over, they went back home together, on the 21:23 train. Mrs Horsewill asked him if he’d like to go for a drink with her. Mr Jenkins declined; he ‘had to get up early in the morning.’ Mrs Horsewill watched him go into Brockett Mansions. ‘This time next week,’ she thought to herself. Mrs Horsewill turned and went into her home at number six, Palace Road. ‘Hello dear, how was bridge?’ asked a croaky voice from upstairs. ‘Fine thanks,’ replied Mrs Horsewill, chucking down her keys. Mrs Horsewill went upstairs and climbed into bed. Facing away from him, she informed her husband, ‘I think we’ll have porridge for breakfast tomorrow.’
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