The following Friday was the same as his first Friday back. He left the pub early, went to bed, and some time later she came to join him. Both of them feeling snug and warm under the duvet. There was still some kind of communication between them. He couldn't expect things to be the same after being apart for five months. All in all though he did settle in, falling easily into the routine of working.

Another Friday night came. She was away at the time, gone somewhere. After having a few drinks he left the pub and went to her room to see if she'd returned. His knocking wasn't answered so he went in. Empty. Her room was small but nicely laid out. As soon as he'd entered he could smell her perfume - sweet and heady. He wrote a note, left it on her bed and then, before leaving, an impulse thought made him look in her waste basket. He was wondering if she'd thrown his last note or had kept it. Instead, he found something that sent his head spinning - a letter to a good friend of his. He knew he shouldn't read it but couldn't stop himself. It wasn't a long letter but what it contained turned his good mood sour. He could not believe it. 'How could she?' She'd written something about love, and in his drunken state read way too much from it. He added a few more lines to the note he'd left for her and, feeling pretty down, left the room. In a daze he headed back to his own place, undressed and fell soundly asleep.