Chalk and fromage (part 1)

It was during the day trip to France that had started the divorce, or at least Claire’s thinking of it. It was his whistling that she thought sounded like a Eurovision tune; one that had scored ‘nul points’… or worse. She knew that wasn’t possible but this was a song she’d heard a dozen times that morning, as he was packing the car, and the repetitive melody grated. The image of French cheese being slid monotonously down a grater, started making her feel hungry and knowing they’d arrive in Paris around lunchtime, she was looking forward to a large bottle of rosé with Brie and French bread, the rosé being hers as he’d insist on driving.

Paris was one of the most romantic cities in the world but another ‘city’ had crushed what little they’d had in their marriage: Manchester City – every home and away game in the seven years they’d been together. They’d even timed their wedding around the football season two years later. Saturdays between August and May had become her clothes shopping or spa days; also making sure she was busy when he checked the results on the TV despite having seen the game live. “The cameras spot me sometimes,” he’d say, justifying his second-by-by second analysis of the late-night highlights.

Chalk and cheese she thought as he drove the car on to the ferry and handed the tickets back to her for safekeeping.

She smiled at him hoping for a flash of affection but none was forthcoming.

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

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