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second only to running the machine without a full load.
    It hadn’t taken him long to get over that once Sandra left. Black trousers were washed with white T-shirts and fluffy bath towels. But he couldn’t put on one of his mottled loads without thinking about the tiny growsuits and lacy bras that used to tangle with his jeans.
    That was the trouble with divorce – the little things like the washing.
    There were the obvious issues – like feeling you’d lost the person you were meant to spend the rest of your life with. But those you could deal with and keep locked away in separate compartments. It was the little things that were the bastards.
    Just when you were sailing along, having a nice day like normal people, something small would jump out and smack you between the eyes.
    Take yesterday, for example. He had been in the supermarket, deliberating between penne and fettuccine, when he’d remembered a Play School episode featuring pasta necklaces, which he and Annie had watched together the week before. He’d reached for the large packet of penne, but the words Family Pack had jumped out at him. With a sudden surge of anger, he’d thrown two small packets into the trolley instead.
    Sandra had worked at a hairdressing salon down the road from the garage where Kerry had done his apprenticeship. Each day he and some mates would walk to the corner shop for a burger or a sandwich. Kerry wasn’t the first to comment on the pretty brunette hairdresser who always had a smile for them. After work one day, he parked his motorbike in front of the salon and went inside. Half an hour later he had the shortest haircut of his life and a date.
    His hair hadn’t had a chance to grow much longer during the time they were together. After Sandra had left, Kerry let it grow, in what he knew was a childish form of rebellion. Now the curls fell loosely around his face, much like Annie’s. It was the resemblance to Annie that made him keep it long. Somehow seeing strangers smile at the two of them together made him feel more closely bound to her.
    Kerry dropped the red folder onto the table beside the keys.
    The second he’d spotted the group of women circled around a bottle of champagne, he’d known he’d made a terrible mistake. He had been about to turn around and leave when the woman at the head of the table had looked straight at him. She certainly wasn’t beautiful, but there was something real about her. And she had been nervous. From where he was standing, Kerry had seen her foot jiggling under the table, as if that was the only bit of her she couldn’t quite keep under control.
    Brian’s words had rung in his ears. ‘It ain’t healthy, mate.’ Somehow he’d found himself at the table, registering the surprise in her eyes when he introduced himself.
    It was such a chick thing – all that feel-good stuff about happiness and small moments.
    He wasn’t the only person who’d felt out of place. The tall redhead had looked at her watch about five times and left before the last bottle of champagne was even opened. Her friend, though, had looked completely star struck.
    Of course the woman who had looked at Kerry as he’d been about to walk back out of the bar was Alice Day. She wasn’t what he’d expected – not that he’d given it much thought. If he had, he would have pictured her as an ageing hippie, maybe in a caftan, most definitely not wearing a bra.
    But she wasn’t like that at all. He’d have guessed that she was pushing forty. She had on a fancy dress and high heels – and no wedding ring, he noticed later. She wasn’t the type of woman he would normally be attracted to, but there was something about her, a warmth, that he really liked.
    Kerry picked up a glass from the sink and filled it from the tap. He leaned his back on the counter and took a mouthful of water. The house looked much as it had when