“He's late, having stopped to get more ice-cube trays for Sam. She's in the middle of a cooking frenzy, whipping up great batches of organic food for George, freezing it in ice-cube trays as soon as it's cooked. It's a Friday night, and it's been a tough week. Before George, or BG as he has come to think of it, he would long for the weekends. BG, Friday nights meant hitting the pub with the men who shared his workshop, fellow craftsmen and artists. He'd stay for a couple of drinks, then meet Sam... for dinner. In their younger days they'd hit the West End, try out different busy, buzzy restaurants each week, occasionally following that with a club, but the last couple of years they'd tended to stick with local restaurants. Friday nights meant a pizza, or a curry, or Chinese takeout. They'd have a long meal, unwind over a bottle of wine, flirt suggestively in the knowledge that Friday night was a sure thing, and that however late a night they had, however much energy they exerted, the best part of Saturday morning would be spent fast asleep.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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