Today’s lovers are even closer to Angela’s house than usual, their Kia Picanto squeezed into a triangle of tarmac where Lovers Layby tails off.
Angela puts the cleaning cloth on the windowsill, as a bilious, clawing sensation rises in her. The heat generated by the lovers seems to have passed through her skin to the core of her. She screws down the cap on the Windolene.
‘This can’t go on, Pete!’ she yells. ‘It’s disgusting.’
Pete is watching tele in the conservatory, wearing his noise cancelling headphones, which silence ninety percent of ambient noise. Last week, over dinner, he claimed they made him feel like an astronaut in outer space.
‘Oh forget it!’ says Angela.
Angela knocks on Val’s old house at number one. In her hand is the petition she’s written.
As she waits for her new n
