Several weeks ago I ordered a picture. Did anyone ever love women as much as Courbet? Finally it arrived, yesterday, Woman With Parrot. My intention was to hang it in the kitchen at work, hoping it would inspire Helen and I around the kettle. But since throwing up everywhere maybe my role as interior decorator is somewhat tarnished. And yet, Gareth was unduly kind to me that morning. He helped me clean the floor, ran my trousers, then my shirt, under a tap. He knew where all the disinfectants were kept. He performed these jobs quietly, calmly, as if he were always cleaning the terrible mess of other men. We've worked together for nearly fifteen years but it wasn't only a kindness of longevity. I was reminded that the overriding impulse of Gareth's life is to expose his errant father, to reveal to his mother the terrible sins of man. And yet, of course, when the man is revealed, or confesses everything, or is found throwing up in a kitchen, then he finds an unexpected pity, a tenderness for the man he's hounded, and in that moment Gareth finds a soul. Born of pity, but no matter, a soul. So, contrary to so much evidence, I had thrown up in front of the right person, and was honoured he could help me. In keeping, he quietly mopped the floor, washed my trousers, then the shirt and will not speak of it again. I will thank him later, or buy him a piece of fruit.