She always felt nostalgic listening to Gossip, and it always annoyed her. She was never sure what she was nostalgic about, for a start, and the memories that surfaced for each song were nearly always different: sometimes of when she was eight and would sit at the desk on the verandah to do her weekend homework and her mother would come out with a glass of milk and a slice of fruit cake and completely fail to help; sometimes of when she was fourteen and went rollerskating on Sundays with her quasi-friends Leonie and Lindy; sometimes of when she was twenty and existing in a poky little house in a poky little bedroom, sharing her single bed every Friday night with her boyfriend Sam after a typically dull night out at the club... At least the memories of waking up on a Saturday morning, crammed up against Sam and listening to him snore, at least those memories bore some resemblance to the lyrics of one of the songs, but when she thought about it, her "nostalgia" was more a case of dissatisfaction, and along the same lines as what she felt for people who said it's so evocative without saying of what.

She took off the headphones, switched off the walkman and heard snores. Her husband was asleep. Husband. The word sounded strange, felt strange. She wanted to reject it, but didn't dare, afraid she'd never be able to accept it again if she rejected it now.

The honeymoon was over, all right. Her unmarried life was over. Her freedom was over. Her rights had gone right down the drain. Still, I didn't do too badly, after all. We do have a few things in common. Words. Just words. She tried to be objective, tried to be reasonable and assume some sort of adult responsibility. Ugh. Responsibility. Can't I just be me?

She got up. No point staying in bed when she could have the house to herself for a few minutes or even an hour or two. She knew his habits. Usually, if he woke and she was already up, he'd get up too, but hopefully, given the revelry of the previous night, hopefully he'd want more sleep, hopefully would not even wake for a few more hours. Yes, she knew his habits, knew that when he got up he'd cook breakfast, insisting she eat properly. He'd cook and they'd sit in the garden and eat, then he'd go buy the papers and they'd sit in the lounge and read them, and then he'd ask what she wanted them to do with the day. Them, always them, not I've got some things to do - you'll be all right, won't you?, not Mustn't live in each other's pockets, now, must we., never Did you want some time to yourself, darling? Always them. She shuddered.

She showered, unconsciously humming Adelaide as she washed her hair and Incident on South Dowling as she rinsed. She had breakfast (an apple) in her dressing gown, realised she was humming Adelaide again and tried to switch to something else, but could only manage Phil Collins' If Leaving Me Is Easy, so made a conscious effort not to hum at all.

She dressed in an old tracksuit, glad he was still asleep. If he saw her dressing in that he'd know she meant to spend the day at home, doing homely things. We're on our honeymoon, darling. he'd chide, Roma will do all that when she comes in later/tomorrow. (meaning he was on his honeymoon and hadn't even noticed that she was unhappy). She couldn't wait for him to go back to work.

She rearranged the kitchen cupboards to cheer herself up, then rearranged the linen cupboard as well, then settled down with a cup of hot chocolate and a cheap paperback, a favourite pastime.

When midday rolled around and Des hadn't come clumping down the stairs to see what she was up to, she felt faintly annoyed, felt it was unfair of him to let her become ever more anxious at his pending approach, felt resentful that she should feel apprehensive at all. She went upstairs.

He didn't look too good. She tried to rouse him. Couldn't. Tried to find his pulse. Couldn't. Tried to hear his heartbeat. Couldn't. Held her pocket mirror under his nose. Nothing.

She sat on her side of the bed for a few minutes, trying to remember what time she'd dressed, guessing about eight thirty, but not at all sure. She wondered how he'd died, wondered why she didn't feel anything much except a mild sense of guilt. The honeymoon was over, all right.