Behind the closed office door, his eyes scan the room; noting the industry magazines are not fanned in front of the maiden hair fern and the reception desk is untidy. It’s Sally’s third week and Bill's idiosyncrasies still elude her. In the quiet, he mulls over the day’s inspections, client proposals and paper work that needs completing to close another deal. After checking the appointments for the next two days, he leaves a detailed to-do-list, in pencil, on the right hand side of his diary. He picks up the phone, and calls Pauline, his wife of 30 years, and says “I’ll be home after dinner” and then hangs up. She knows exactly what this means; an evening of solitude; an evening of emptiness. His cutlery is placed back in the kitchen drawer, again, as she squashes her hopes that perhaps tomorrow night or the night after will be different. Stepping out onto the pavement, with the office behind him and the restaurant ahead, Bill already feels invigorated. It’s only a 10 minute walk and while he knows he doesn’t have a dinner booking; he is expected. Read More . . .