She says I have used too much of the remaining cheese for my sandwiches – the same cheese that she had left for Adam’s
sandwiches. I say there’s plenty of cheese left for his sandwiches and I haven’t used too much for mine. And even if I have, I say, I can give you back a slice for his or even more. But I’m sure there’s plenty of cheese for both our sandwiches. She says there isn’t enough for both our sandwiches and she should know, her being the one who usually makes his sandwiches. I put quite a big slice of cheese aside on a plate and say there you are. I’ve put some cheese on the plate for him. I am about to put another slice of cheese on the plate, just in case, but decide that’s going too far. Then I notice that the slice of cheese I have put on the plate has pickle on it so I wipe that off while she is not looking. He doesn’t like pickle on his cheese sandwiches. That much I do know.
On reading the above, she asks how I had wiped the pickle off the cheese. Was it with a knife? Was it clean or dirty? Knowing you, she says, it was probably with your finger. It wasn’t with my finger, I say remembering what I had used to wipe the pickle off the cheese. So what was it? she says. Kitchen towel, I say. She goes to brush her teeth. It’s feasible, I think looking round to see if I could spot the roll of kitchen towel and whether it could feasibly have been nearby at the time. But there was no roll of kitchen towel. It must have run out the day before. I fetched a new roll of kitchen towel from the hall cupboard, tore off a few sheets, so it didn’t look quite so new and placed it between the fridge and bread board before she came back in.