‘So what do ye call this?’
Phil looked up, his wife’s shaking hand holding a card daubed with a red heart.
He shrugged, ‘Valentine’s card?’
‘From one of your skanky whores. You promised me ye’d stop slagging around …’, Phil ducked as the card hurtled towards him.
‘Babe, darling … I promise … this has nowt to do with me.’
‘What like all the other ‘accidents’ were just slips of the cock. When I get back from work ye’d better be gone.’
The door slammed, Phil retrieved the card.
Fingers crossed the barmaid from the Red Lion had sent it.