The lunch bag.
I never gave it to him.
It sat on that table for the whole of that conversation and neither of us opened it, and at about eleven o'clock I put the sandwich in the bin because it had been in a bag in a car all day.
And I washed the box and put it back in the cupboard.
And I did not think about the note.
Three weeks later, in the November, I was looking for something in his bedside drawer and it was in there, folded in half, under his watch.
He had been through the bin.
At some point that night, after I went up, a man of forty-six went through the kitchen bin for a piece of paper that his wife had written before she knew anything.
You don't have to look after everybody. Let me have a go.
I wrote that at about half past nine in the morning as a joke about a man working too hard.
