She looks at him oddly. “Isn’t it your anniversary too?”
“What? Oh yeah!” He grabs the least bedraggled bunch, shoves £3.00 in her hand and rushes off. “Keep the change,” he calls. “Damned, should’ve bought a card! Too late,” he adds scrambling for the bus.
“Happy anniversary, sweet-cheeks,” he gushes as he lets himself in. “What’s for tea?”
“Whatever you’re cooking. I’m out clubbing with the girls. Bye.”
And that’s when he knew he’d gone one step too far down the road to neglect.