Chapter Five
Churches, of whatever belief, had it all wrong, Brian Fordham told himself as he placed the sparkling-water his wife had asked for on the dressing-table before whose mirror she was making-up her face.
“Thank you, sweetie,” she told him, careful to use the demeaning new form of address she had hit upon for him. “Now go back downstairs and make sure everything is nice and tidy for our guests while mummy makes herself look presentable.”
Hell, he told himself as he writhed inwardly at her childish treatment of him and the fact he was unable to prevent her doing just that if she so wished, was not some subterranean furnace only open for a stay after life was given the lights-out.
Not by a longshot.
From the moment he had returned home, cold, tired, and with nowhere else to tur
