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again.
    ‘I laughed because after all these years you can still surprise me.’
    Elaine relaxed.
    ‘Shall I open a bottle of wine, dear? To celebrate?’
    ‘Yes, George. Do that. You do that.’
    She sat back at the table and resumed her meal. She was too hard on George, that was the trouble. He was pleased that she was going off to enjoy herself. He didn’t begrudge her a little time away from him. She made up her mind to be more friendly, try and understand him a bit better. A short while later they clinked glasses.
    ‘To Spain, my dear.’
    ‘To Spain.’
    They finished their meal in peace, and George left Elaine finishing the bottle of wine while he went for a walk.
     
    George walked the streets for twenty minutes, his hands deep in his pockets and his head burrowed into the neck of his overcoat. He liked the winter months, liked the anonymity the dark nights created. He made his way to Motherwell Street and walked slowly along the lines of houses.
    How the hell was he going to break the news to Elaine about his redundancy? From what he could gather from Renshaw, he would be out on his ear in February. He shuddered. He had calmed her tonight but that wouldn’t last long. He closed his eyes briefly, pondering his problem. His redundancy would only make her more convinced that he was an all round loser.

    Geraldine O’Leary smiled at herself in her mirror. Still not satisfied with her make-up, she applied more fuchsia pink lipstick. Opening her mouth wide, she spread it liberally then rubbed her lips together. She smiled at herself again, satisfied. Picking up her hairbrush, she began to pull it through her long brown hair, the electricity crackling as she did so.
    Mick O’Leary watched his wife from the bed. Even after twelve years she could still excite him. At thirty-four she was the mother of his three children and did not look much older than the day he’d married her. He gazed at her as she slipped on her bra and pants. Their eyes met and they smiled, an intimate smile.
    ‘I wish you wouldn’t go tonight, Gerry.’
    ‘I don’t want to go, Mick. But if I stay home I’ll regret it next week, you know that. Fifteen quid is fifteen quid. And Christmas will be here soon . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
    Mick sighed. Getting off the bed, he pulled on his trousers.
     
    ‘I suppose you’re right. You’re not wearing that blouse, are you?’
    Geraldine looked down at the blouse she was buttoning up. ‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’
    ‘You can see your bra through it.’
    ‘Oh, Mick! You’re crazy . . .’
    ‘Well, I don’t like the thought of men looking at my wife.’
    ‘Women come in the wine bar as well, you know.’ She pursed her lips at him and he laughed.
    ‘Not as good-looking as you though, girl.’
    Geraldine smiled and slipped on a black skirt. Then she stepped into her high-heeled shoes and sprayed herself liberally with perfume.
    Checking her make-up one last time, she left the bedroom with her husband and they went downstairs.
    Sophie, Donald and Grania, aged three, five and ten respectively, looked up as they came into the lounge.
    ‘See you all later, and be good for Daddy.’
    Sophie, in pink pyjamas, put out her arms for a cuddle and Geraldine picked her up, smelling the babyness of her and cuddling the little girl to her chest.
    ‘You be good, madam.’ She looked over at her husband who had sat down and picked up the TV section of the paper.
    ‘Don’t let her play you up. Eight o’clock is bedtime for the three of you.’
    Grania and Donald groaned.
    ‘I mean it. Or no sweets tomorrow.’
     
    She placed Sophie on the couch with her brother and sister and pulled on her coat. As she buttoned it up she gave her orders.
    ‘There’s some chicken left in the fridge, Mick, if you fancy a sandwich, and I got you in some beers. Oh, and before I forget, I’ve left my Avon order by the phone. The girl will be calling around tonight.’
    ‘You just get yourself off, Gerry. I’ll