He’s already gone up, tired after working away all week. She’s been hugged, updated, switched off from. She blows out the candles and puts on the reading lamp, sinks into the sofa alone, novel splayed, lacy hold-ups creeping down her thighs of their own accord. His plate and cup on the side, his phone on charge. She writes ‘eggs’ on the shopping list and heads upstairs.

Treading softly she plods through her bathroom routine, discards the stockings. In the bedroom darkness he stirs to pull her in close. Romance isn’t dead. It’s only hibernating. But the bloody stockings still need handwashing.

Cathy Lennon is a writer of short fiction based in Lancashire. Her work has appeared in various printed and online publications. She has been a winner and judge of the annual National Flash Fiction Day competition and appears in several of its anthologies.

Twitter: @clenpen