Some Small Explosions

His future parents in-law, the people who had brought up the girl who was going to save him from a lifetime of crunching dry pot-noodle in front of late-night satellite game-shows. He booked the good restaurant and made sure the four unchipped mugs were clean. Sarah sat them in the lounge while he watched the kettle for lumps of limescale pouring out with the water.

Already he disliked them. They were nice enough but he resented them for the pressure he felt. That they were so pleasant only made him feel his suffering was unjustified, which made him feel he was being a bad person, which made him miserable, which made him dislike them.

'It's supposed to be a very good restaurant,' he said, 'we've been dying to try it.'

He strode ahead as they walked passed terraced front gardens where weeds grew up between the rubbish, passed boarded up windows and the hot breath of a laundrette where women loudly argued. He had nothing for later, just instant coffee and some foreign liquor that smelled of perfume.

As they enjoyed their starters, a rat ran across the seat behind them. Neither he nor Sarah said a thing.