“She looks like a woman in love,” I say to John, “she seems really happy.”
I imagine her swapping numbers. Maybe he’s already called to check she got home alright. That’s how it starts—gestures that say, ‘I’m thinking of you’.
I want to shake her, tell her the truth. Soon he’ll be leaving his wedding ring on the side of the bath and frequenting the Snooker Hall where ‘women aren’t allowed’.
Instead, I drink my wine and hold John’s hand.