I remember the 1980s very well. They were bleak for a lot of people as well as for Charlie. But others survived and even triumphed like Charlie's wife, Maureen. This is a story of the Thatcher era and a marriage laid bare and stretched out on the dissecting table. Read, remember and have an occasional wry smile along the way.
He picks up the menu, is immediately shocked at the prices. He looks up at Maureen and catches her face in studied neutrality as she battles to understand the Spanish dishes, none of which are translated into English. Her lips move slightly. This gesture, the unconscious innocence of the action, brings forth a judder of affection in Charlie. It reassures him. He has sometimes been uncertain whether he loves his wife. He has never doubted that Maureen loves him, however, although she has not told him so for twenty years at least. It was natural for a woman to love; that was what they do, while he worked, and provided, and supplied the final word in difficult decisions. He is strong, and he believes that she admires his strength.