Our relationship was in its death throes. Really? (I said it in a hostile way.) Does that sound hostile? Then we talked about that for a while. In fact, Anna, it might sound rather hostile to Hamish, if you think about it from his point of view. I tried to reassure Hamish, I’m not planning to kill you or anything. Trust issues, the couples counsellor called it. Why did I need this time alone, sneaking around the house? Why did I need to be alone so much? I loved getting up before everyone else, when the house was still and I could read or listen to a podcast alone in a frozen world. I got up, pulled on a jumper and slippers, and crept out of the bedroom. I lay in bed savouring the anticipation, watching light from the street ripple across the ceiling, listening as the heating kicked on and the grand old dame of a house groaned and cracked her bones. I’ve seen justice served on a vicious murderer while buying underpants. I’ve resisted an Assyrian invasion while picking up dry-cleaning. A good podcast can add a glorious multi-world texture to anything. I planned to listen to the first episode, get a taste for the story before I woke the kids for school, and then binge on it while I trawled through a day of menial tasks. I had a new true-crime podcast series waiting on my phone and I’d heard good things about it. It was a concession to our couples counselling: I wouldn’t wake Hamish at six with my alarm clock and he wouldn’t play Candy Crush on his phone all evening while ignoring the children. It was early morning in November and I woke up without the use of an alarm clock.
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