And now you’ve moved into this new house you suppose things can only get better, given time. You also suppose you’ve made your bed, and surely, every woman has to put up with her man being a dickhead every now and then. Like they say, you pays your money and takes your choice, but when he throws a sickie like he did last week, again, it worries you loads, because now you’ve taken on a bigger mortgage you’ve got more to lose, and as per, you seem to be shouldering all the weight. Again. Worrying about things never did anyone any good though, did it. But then again, what if things always end up going bad, and he never gets any better? It’s like you’re both just going round in circles. He stops. He starts. He fucks up. But, you suppose, it’s like your grandma used to say, what you lose on the swings, you gain on the roundabouts. What goes up, must come down. Although sometimes you wish to good-God-all-friggin-mighty he’d just find normal for more than one blue moon a month, and actually stay there. But, least said soonest mended etc, and anyway, God knows you know by now that if you say something when he’s on one it’ll only make him worse. So best let sleeping dogs lie and all that. Unless of course he’s on a downer, and needs to talk, needs to say he’s sorry, needs to make those all-important promises. Which, when you think about it, you know he’ll always break. Funny. Though it isn’t. It’ll never cease to amaze you the things he tells you. But then again, truth really is stranger than fiction. And at least he tells you the truth, hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Which is tons better than hearing it from someone else. Like your mother for instance. What is it they say? Seeing is believing? Well, you’ll never believe what your mum said Joyce Farmer’s husband said he saw Billy doing to that pub letterbox back where you used to live. So there you go. Seeing is believing. Although you certainly don’t believe your mum will ever see the good in Billy. Or that someone could actually shit into a letterbox. All said, you suppose it’s quite simple. You’re stuck between The Devil and the deep blue sea, but Joe and Scarlett need a dad, so no way you’re just going throw the baby out with the bathwater and leave him, are you. No. You need to make the best of what you’ve got, and remember them that live in glass houses shouldn’t come downstairs and tell him to get to bed because he has work in a few hours then try and grab the can from his hand. Because it’s right, it is better the devil you know. Even if he does scare you when he’s like that. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but when he calls you a cunt in front of your kids it still hurts. You suppose he’s getting worse again. There’s no smoke without fire and yesterday you found three empty vodka bottles in his sock drawer, so you’re going to have to take the rough with the smooth, even if sometimes when you make love, he just fucks. Into every life a little rain must fall. This’ll be the third mattress you’ve had.