Grace was three quarters through packing what had been their bedroom. The thing she kept looking for, as she pulled random boxes from under the bed, was a stash of old-school porn magazines.
Peter’s side of the bed seemed littered with old shoe boxes that had nothing more than the thin wrapping paper that had come with the new pair of shoes. The brand names were meaningless this many years later, as most of the shoes that had once been held captive inside were now lost in landfill.
She was now an entire arm's length beneath the bed, and still his shit was appearing. Her fingers felt around carefully. And then she felt the loose strand of string. Immediately, the memories came back to her in one big thrust.
Their marriage was already over, but they were years from realising this. The critical moment for them came the last time they tried to have sex. Peter had brought home a maid’s uniform, and wanted Grace to wear it.
They closed their door. Soft music played while Grace changed. She walked out feeling this was wrong.
Peter lay on the bed watching her. He seemed to be not only taking in the skimpiness, but was waiting for something.
She had been confused. Surely he wasn’t wanting her to take it off. She had forgotten how to do this. Or more to the point, forgotten how with him.