Three minutes before it happens, Anya takes a deep swallow of white wine, sets the glass on the shelf, and slides further down in the bath. The water is at her chin, tepid now and cooling fast. She should have closed the bathroom door. Chris is always moaning about steam and mildew, and he always leaves the door open. Now, she does so too, on autopilot. And to stop him nagging. But Chris isn’t here tonight. He’s thousands of miles away in LA and Anya is blissfully alone. He won’t know if she closes the bathroom door. She’s just not sure she has the energy to get out and do it. Three large glasses of wine and a long day at the office will do that.

That’s the other nice thing about Chris being away. Nobody judging her for opening a bottle of wine on a Wednesday night. Or finishing a bottle of wine on a Wednesday night. It sits on the tiled surface at the end of the bath, coated in condensation. Just half a glass left, she notices now. She’s had more than she thought.

Beside the wine, her phone buzzes to life, startling her. She leans forward to see who it is but doesn’t pick up. Chris. It’s nine in Dublin, so lunchtime in LA. He’ll be slipping away from his colleagues, calling to say how much he misses her. That he’s got a big surprise when he comes home. It’s a ring. She knows this because she saw his search history. She shakes her head, wet strands grazing her shoulders. The buzzing stops and she picks up the phone to text.

Sorry, can’t talk. Up to my eyes, working late. Going to be same right the way through week so no point trying to get me on phone, see you Friday when you’re back x

Chris is going to have to go.

He is very good-looking and very nice. He’s also bland and boring and far too particular about the mind-numbing minutiae of everyday life. Like bathroom condensation.