Little things reminded her how different they were, unsuited even.

The obvious stuff – he liked beef, she preferred chicken, he liked rock and she liked pop – was just that, obvious. Surmountable.

When she and her friends indulged in a spot of partner-bashing Mish was proud that she and Luca shared the household jobs. No complaints in that arena.
She ironed, he cleaned the toilet. He cooked, she took out the bins. They shopped together.

Now she was going to have to have words.

Maybe he wasn’t even aware that there were so many different types of bin bags at Asda. Maybe he just got distracted.

She’d written drawstring bags on the list. Not just ‘bin bags’ but drawstring. Tie handle bags were useless, worse, a bit gippy.

Brushing the damp and cold rubbish with her knuckles, riddled with germs, trying to tie those stupid, thin and slippy handles was just gross. Worse still if the bag was too full because she’d put the job off for just one more meal.

Mish’s thoughts unspooled. From Luca not reading a list properly, to not thinking about her and the germs, to not caring about her health, to maybe not even caring if she lived or died. Grounds for divorce.