Emma was in the kitchen when I came in. Big light off. Just the spots above the sink. She had the slip dress on with the left strap halfway down her arm and a grey cardigan over the top that she had not bothered to button. She was holding a glass of red wine that had not moved much.
She turned when she heard the door.
"Wembley."
"Wembley."
She came round the island and took my jacket off my shoulders. She did not say anything for a long beat. She just looked at me with her hand still on the front of my jumper. Then she kissed me. The not-polite kind.
"Aviero."
"Aviero."
"You sang the song."
"Reg picked the song."
"I know who picked the song. I am ringing him tomorrow. He is the lead in my piece."
