The tactical text

The second Eric opened the door he could feel it: the air, contaminated with acrimony.

When a fierce row then erupted upstairs, he was momentarily chuffed at having guessed right. But, damn, Penny and the girls were really going at it.

For a moment he considered trying to sort it out. Then he came to his senses.

Fifteen minutes later, he was in his local pub. “Sorry, Pen, stuck at work. Home late,” he texted. Relishing the first sip of his pint, he wondered how many more he’d need to drink until the air at home was safe to breathe.

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