July 7, 2008
Honey, I’ve dropped my book in the bath again, I shout. Jesus, I hear her say above her breath. She stomps into the kitchen and from the other side of the bathroom door, says, Which book is it? The Unconsoled, I say, staring down at the inflatable soap boat. Oh, not the fucking Ishiguro again? She says. Sorry, I say in my five-year-old first-day-at-school baby-boy voice. Didn’t mean to. You know what this means, don’t you? And it’s fucking snowing out. Sorry, I say again and reach for the anti-dandruff shampoo. I can hear her mutter and curse and struggle with the ladder because it’s snagging on the vacuum cleaner in the hall cupboard. Shit! Fucking thing! She says. Where’s my fucking swimming costume? Er, the blue one or the polka-dot one? I say. Which one do you fucking think? She says. By Steve Finbow.