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He comes over to where I stand. He kisses me, on the cheek. I don’t stop him, but neither do I kiss him back. 

He turns towards the front door, and is about to open it when he stops. ‘Oh!’ he says, looking back at me. ‘I almost forgot!’ 

His voice sounds suddenly forced, the enthusiasm affected. He is trying too hard to make it seem natural; 

it is obvious he has been building up to what he is about to say for some time. In the end it is not as bad as I feared. 

‘We’re going away this evening,’ he says. ‘Just for the weekend. It’s our anniversary, so I thought I’d book something. Is that OK?’

I nod. ‘That sounds nice,’ I say. He smiles, looks relieved. 

‘Something to look forward to, eh? A bit of sea air? It’ll do us good.’ He turns back to the door and opens it. ‘I’ll call you later,’ he says. ‘See how you’re getting on.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Do. Please.’
‘I love you, Christine,’ he says. ‘Never forget that.’ 

He closes the door behind him and I turn. I go back into the house.

Later, mid-morning. I sit in an armchair. 

The dishes are done and neatly stacked on the drainer, the laundry is in the machine. I have been keeping myself busy.

But now I feel empty. It’s true, what Ben said. I have no memory. Nothing. There is not a thing in this house that I remember seeing before. 

Not a single photograph- either around the mirror or in the scrapbook in front of me- that triggers a recollection of when it was taken, 

not a moment with Ben that I can recall, other than those since we met this morning. My mind feels totally empty.