He came back late from watching England beat Sweden at football with Duggie. He had to get up early to be at Terry’s by nine to see if Mrs Patel had work for him. I didn’t ask about the money he’d said Terry’d be giving him next day – that I wouldn’t have to an excuse for his extracting more the better to enjoy the game – because asking might lead to an upset before bed and impair sleep. The upset came another way.
I told him I’d bleached the outside wall and corner against fungi, from condensation. On going to bed, I said I didn’t want the bed up against the wall. From the bathroom he scorned; I was overly dramatic. I snapped, “I know what I’m doing!” He took offence and went to sleep in the bathroom. I went to bed. Waking after a couple of hours, I got up to pee. “You must be freezing,” I gave a conciliatory touch and he did come through to lie on the room floor before coming on to bed where I put my arm round him.
In the morning I was making us tea and toast when a lid fell onto the draining board. He complained about what I could have done nothing about. “You’re getting up anyway.” He then complained about not having had enough sleep. “Whose fault is that!” “Yours.” “You always blame somebody else,” and I reverted to his blaming me for his not coming sexually because I‘d given up, having lost impetus as I’d said at the time, not sure about doing it in the first place since he had to get up early.
I did broach Terry’s giving him money and it was a gift, not a loan I’d have to repay.
The station clerk wouldn’t let me buy a cheaper travel pass before nine-thirty. “They’re on to you,” I told John.