Powerless for the moment and desperate to get home, Sarah watched Tom slide as he listlessly piloted them through treacle traffic. As with her morning apnoea attacks, she knew it'd take all her strength to break the barriers forming around him. What a f*ck. It was Friday; the end of a sh*t week. Sh*t at work; sh*t at home; sh*t everywhere. All day she’d clung to the hope that Tom would feel like going out, if only for noodles and a Chardonnay. A brief respite from the hospice their home had become. Not a chance. In eighteen months she’d become intimate with every sign his furrowed face could muster. And tonight the ‘Danger Long Wide Load’ flags were out in force. F*ck!

Then she remembered: Jacinta was coming for dinner. Oh please God, not tonight. The house was filthy, the fridge empty and the vegetarian recipe untried. She was due in an hour, the mobile was dead and they’d already cancelled twice. There was no choice; they’d have to shop on the way home. Sarah shuddered, as if about to slither down a death spiral of her own. As the car inched towards the turnoff, she began to assemble careful sentences.

**********

Tom had appeared to take the news well, but as ever, this was a lie. Now among the avocados and starfruit, he was slowly losing it. In no mood for drama, Sarah docked him to the trolley and begged that he simply walk behind her.

Tom mutely acquiesced and shuffled like a crone. He'd let his sight drop out of focus and the serried goods blurred into a gaudy gouache wash, repellant as lolly vomit. As he progressed, pieces of colour detached themselves and flew towards him, each sounding a cold chrome shudder on landing. The trolley grew heavier and with it, Tom's sense of closure. The air became dank and the Tannoy announcements disintegrated.

To be continued...