How not to undress

Miriam takes a puff of the cigarette she bummed. 'We need to head back in,' she says, not moving.

I hoist my phone towards the heavens in an attempt to get reception. ‘As soon as I show you this,' I say.

She pulls a cigarette out of her handbag.

'I thought you'd quit?' I ask, unsurprised.

She shrugs, lights up, and offers it to me immediately as a bribe.

I briefly look away from my phone. Two security guards stroll through the staff car park as if it’s a showroom.

'He made me feel really bad. I didn’t mean to laugh,’ she says.

I tap on my phone's screen. 'You've both been really stressed out, lately'.

'Yeah, maybe. We’ve never tried anything like it before.’ Her voice catches itself on the back of her throat. ‘I’m not as adventurous as he is.’

My phone starts to behave. I hand it to her. She studies it carefully. She laughs.

Reading about the site in the Metro on the tube this morning was the perfect distraction. I instantly forgot all about it. Black and white photos taken by an American photographer in the 1930s show housewives sharing tips for other housewives. The gallery is called: ‘How to undress in front of your husband’. A woman tries to sexily unclasp her girdle. Her smile is a grimace; she could be giving birth.

It came back to me because I wanted to cheer Miriam up.

She laughs again. 'At least I had my bra off,' she says.