When I have gone I want you to think about everything

Dee glanced down at her spanking new lino as Bill turned away stepping round tomato soup foot-prints. She wished every intention had been measured and then life might have been ship-shape then poor Bill would know where he was and aware of her intentions. Their fly in the ointment had brought them together as well as pushing them apart.

Bill kept a ordered shed where spanners descended neatly and oily rags discreetly stuffed in SMA baby tins that sat inches away from his fag tins that still smelt of Old Holborn. Dee knew he huddled in the corner of his cob-webbed bome to roll up his forbidden fag; even when he leant over his vice or vigorously slammed with his hammer upon a object she was unable to describe to anyone who asked.

Why,she wondered, could men read maps as well as being ordered from mechanics and wood-work to electrics and the fixing of cars.
He often said how he couldn't understand the female mind. He had thought that women's place was in the kitchen but had stopped mentioning this when Dee had stopped cooking his tea for a week which forced him down to the local chippy. A stand-off followed before Dee took out her sauce-pans again then headed away to Norfolk and her messy van. Their gas bottle needed replacing but she'd have to ask someone else to do that wouldn't she!