“What is that?” Claire asks pointing to his shoulder; her nose wrinkling in disgust.

Arran cranes his neck to look at the offending item. “Ah, that would be sick,” he said matter-of-factly. “I was in the baby unit tod-“

“You need to get changed,” Claire said now glaring at the dried stain on his shirt.

Arran refrained from rolling his eyes. “I was planning on doing just that,” he said heading for their bedroom.

“Well hurry it up!” she called as he disappeared out of her sight. “We haven’t got all night.”

Arran nearly tripped over the discarded items of clothing scattered across the floor; probably from Claire’s impromptu fashion show when she was deciding what to wear. He scanned the mess and couldn’t help but think that most of the children he worked with were tidier than this.

He decided to forgo his usual habit of tidying some of the room as he went and headed straight for the wardrobe instead. He rifled through his best shirts and picked out one of his oldest but quickly put it back knowing Claire would have a lot to say if he didn’t wear something newer. He snagged one of the shirts Claire had picked out for him and quickly shrugged himself into it, after discarding the sick-shirt. It now sat at the top of the laundry basket waiting for him to do the laundry.

He walked to the mirror and hardly recognised the person staring back at him. The shirt was so not him but he really didn’t want to be belittled and badgered all night so sacrifices were necessary. He really didn’t think his home life, and girlfriend, should be more tiring than his job but it was much more demanding somehow.

“Arran, come on!” Claire called. “What the hell is taking you so long?”

“I’m coming,” Arran called back, eyeing the unmade bed longingly. Walking out into the fresh air, with Claire’s nails digging into his arm and complaints already pouring from her lips, Arran couldn’t help but think that one of these days he should really leave