Some time alone in the bedroom had cooled Bill off enough to regret his rage. Lottie had been wrong to shout at him and raise her hand like he was her child rather than her husband. She should have welcomed him home like a hero, celebrating him as a wonderful father for puncing that swine, Angus, in the face, and she should have been extra kind to him as she should know how awful a night in a cell would be for him. But that was not the wife he had. Lottie was as quick to anger as he was. Still, he felt bad for his own aggression. What did John make of all this? John was the black sheep of the family – no pun intended – and Bill still half-expected the young man to fall into his old habits sooner or later. But what sort of example had Lottie and he been just now? Had they been a bad example in the past? Were they to blame for the many faults of their children?

As he sat down on the bed to tie the laces of his work boots, he found his spirits lower than they had been last night, albeit a great deal calmer. It was the quiet resignation both he and his wife wore in the face of the many imperfections of their married life, a stoicism interrupted occasionally – and lately more frequently – by flaring tempers and thundering rows.

Bill’s fingers worked slowly. He was early for work and in no rush to go back downstairs. He found some comfort in the knowledge that at least he provided for his family. He had a stable job, went straight home on pay day to hand his wages over to his wife, and only drank what her prudent household management allotted to him. Och, and she had managed that household so admirably all these years. She was economical, hard working, smart… She was a good wife. They really ought to make a good team. They were to the outside world. The world beyond the prying eyes and battered ears of Oswy street anyway…

He sat up and turned his head to look at Lottie’s side of the bed. Despite all of Lottie’s qualities as a wife and his own efforts, there had been a distance, a barrenness, between them for a long time. He felt sorry about it, and equally helpless.

He got up at last and braced himself to go back down. He wanted to reconcile, but of course she would shout again. Of course she would refuse to acknowledge her own wrongs. Reluctantly, Bill opened the door and made his way to the stairs. Just then there was a knock.

Oh! What providence! Ben Ward! The one person Lottie probably still hated more than she hated her husband! Let him bear her wrath!

Amazed at his luck, Bill tiptoed down the stairs, passed quietly behind Lottie, avoiding eye contact with the bearded sacrificial lamb in the doorway, and disappeared through the back of the house. He took a deep breath once he had closed the back door behind him. Surely Lottie’s anger would subside once she had given Ben a piece of her mind. Surely when he got home tonight, all would be well…