‘If you’re going to have a row, perhaps Valentine’s Day isn’t the best day to do it.”

Seema mulled over her friend’s words as she finished her third wine and pushed the glass towards the barman for a refill. She was right, but it’s not like you chose when to argue with your husband. And if he decided on the most inappropriate moments to be a dickhead, what was she supposed to do? Let it pass because it happened to be the Fourteenth of February?

The barman eyed her suspiciously as he poured her drink. Seema hoped he didn’t think she was an ageing escort, although she would have understood if he did, given the area’s reputation. And sitting on a stool at the end of a bar drinking alone isn’t a good look, especially with a hint of black stocking top showing beneath your short dress and a tempting amount of cleavage spilling from the top. Seema looked like a woman there to be picked up, and on that count, at least, the barman would have been entirely correct.

The seats of the bar were beginning to fill up. Other media types mostly, Seema reckoned, spilling out of the office and into the nearest watering hole. In her time as a rookie journalist, every day had ended that way, and she was pleased to see that despite many reports to the contrary, the current generation of hacks was keeping the tradition very much alive.

A few guys shot her a smile as they came to the bar to order drinks, but none attempted to engage her in conversation. Each time, she tried to determine whether the smile was a flirty one or an expression of pity. She decided that, for now, they were the former, although that might change as the evening went on.

A tall guy entered the bar alone and walked to the counter. Initially, he didn’t seem to register Seema’s presence, allowing her to size him up unnoticed for a moment. In his early fifties, white, slim, and wearing a well-fitting suit, Seema recognised a successful and wealthy man, albeit one with the weight of the world apparently on his shoulders. His neatly trimmed beard was almost grey, and his face slightly drawn, but she tried to imagine him in his younger years; energetic, optimistic and unsullied by the shit the world had since thrown at him. He would have been handsome in his twenties, she thought.

He ordered a whisky but didn’t drink it. Instead, he stood for a few minutes, staring into the middle distance, seemingly glad that his working day was done.

“Shit weather again today.”

For a moment, Seema was unsure if the comment had been directed at her or the barman. But, since the bar was temporarily unoccupied as the barman collected up empty glasses, it didn’t take much to figure it must have been intended for her. “Shit day, full stop,” she replied, taking another large sip of wine.

The guy bowed his head and gave a brief, ironic laugh. “Husband pissing you off?” He turned towards her and nodded towards her ring finger. Is it true that diamonds don’t sparkle during an argument?

“He’s a cunt,” she replied.

The guy didn’t respond. Instead, he took a first sip of whisky and nodded his understanding to the bar counter.

As more people arrived, the counter quickly became busy. Then, seemingly irritated at being jostled by thirsty drinkers, the guy sat on the stool next to Seema without asking. She bristled at the invasion of her space.

After an awkward pause, he broke the silence. “So, it’s Valentine’s Day, and your husband is a cunt, and… you’re getting pissed in a bar?”

Seema didn’t like how he seemed to talk to his whisky rather than her. He looked shifty and furtive, and it made her uncomfortable.

“That’s right. If he thinks I’m going to go home, cook him dinner, ply him with drink, then let him fuck me after what he did, he can piss off, Valentine’s Day or not.”

The guy didn’t respond. Sometimes it was better to be quiet and listen when talking to a woman with a grudge.

“The same fucking necklace as last year!” The wine had loosened Seema’s tongue. “I’ve only worn it a hundred times, but it shows how little attention he pays me these days.”

“It’s unforgivable,” the guy eventually replied.

“Damn fucking right it is!” Seema noticed some customers looking at her, and she lowered her voice. “What does it say about the state of our marriage?”

The guy thought carefully before replying. Although the question was rhetorical, he seemed to think it required a response nonetheless. “I think we can agree; your husband is a cunt. But I’m sure he’s regretting it already. You’re a beautiful woman. I’m sure there’s nothing he would like more than to spend the evening with you.”

Seema snorted. “Oh, yes. He’ll regret it, alright.” She began to rise to her theme. “Do you know what I had planned for him tonight?”

The guy shook his head.

“I was going to cook his favourite dinner and serve it by candlelight. Then, we might have watched a film before going to bed to fuck. And I can assure you, I’ve been feeling very horny all day. He would have had a filthy evening - I’d have gone all fucking night.”

The guy didn't seem surprised that she was being so forthright in a crowded bar.

“He has this thing that he likes to do in bed. Do you know what it is?” she asked coyly. Not waiting for a reply, Seema leaned in close enough for him to smell the wine on her breath. “He likes to fuck me in the arse,” she whispered. “That’s right; he likes to lube himself up, bend me over, and fuck my big, tight Indian arse.” She drew back again and rested her elbow on the bar. “He won’t be getting any of that tonight, though. Not now.”

The guy listened patiently, nodding his understanding once more. His face was expressionless and seemingly unshockable. Then, after a moment, he spoke again. “So, is he always a cunt, or is it just Necklacegate?”

“Always,” Seema replied with certainty. “Do you know what else he makes me do?”

The guy shook his head.

Seema leaned in again and whispered directly in his ear. “When he pulls out after, you know, he makes me suck his cock. Isn’t that disgusting?” She drew back, shaking her head with an incredulous look. “But he’ll not go near my arsehole tonight.”

“You don’t enjoy that?” the guy replied, not knowing how best to respond to Seema’s latest revelation.

“You’re missing the point,” Seema said agitatedly. “It’s not about whether I enjoy it or not. The point is he buys me the same gift twice, doesn’t notice me from one year’s end to the next, and the only attention I get is when he treats me like a fucking whore. Do you think that’s acceptable, huh?”

Chastened and realising that Seema was becoming increasingly drunk, the guy conceded that it was not.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Seema finished her wine. The guy asked the barman to pour two more drinks before quickly finishing his whisky. He played with the empty glass while resting his elbows on the countertop.

“Now you’re going to tell me you’re happy in your marriage,” Seema said disdainfully.

The guy thought for a moment. “We have our ups and downs, as all couples do,” he replied. “But I’d like to think we have way more ups than downs.”

Seema seemed to be considering whether she viewed her marriage the same way. “But you love her, right?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. More than anything, and I think she knows it. But I’m a guy, and sometimes I fuck up, just like the next guy. But I’d like to think she understands that I’m sorry when I do and that I don’t mean to be thoughtless.”

Seema knew the guy was trying to pour oil on troubled waters and sensed a hint of reproachment at her festering anger, but she wasn’t ready to forgive and forget just yet. How often had she heard the ‘I’m just a guy’ excuse? They seemed to think they could just trot it out as if being a tool was somehow in their DNA. “He’s still a cunt,” she said.

“So there’s no way back for him, then?” the guy said sadly. “Nothing he can do to get out of the dog house?”

Seema thought about his words. “Do you know what I would like?” Seema said, staring absently at the bar ceiling as a half-smile formed on her lips. “What would really make me happy?”

“Go on,” the guy replied, intrigued.

“I’d like to feel like I did when we first had sex: the passion, the excitement, the thrill. Of course, neither of us was young, and we had both had sex with loads of other partners. But that night, it felt like my virginity was taken all over again.”

The guy smiled softly at her for the first time, pleased that the mood had lifted for a moment. “Is he still in there, the old husband, do you think? Do you think that if he tried, you could recreate that feeling with him?”

“I hope so,” Seema replied. “Otherwise, we’re finished.”

Seema made to rest her elbow on the bar but missed and almost fell off the stool. The guy put out his hand to steady her and ensured she safely returned to her seat.

“Now, I think it’s maybe time you stopped putting off going home. I think you’ve had enough to drink already. Would you like me to get your husband to bring the car and take you home?”

Seema nodded meekly, pecked at her phone a few times and handed it to the guy.

“I’ll be right back,” the guy said, sliding off his stool and disappearing out the pub door.

A few minutes later, he returned. “The car is outside. Come on, I’ll help you out,” he said, passing back Seema’s phone and picking up her coat from the back of the stool. The guy gallantly helped Seema put on her coat and took her arm, leading her towards the door. “You know, your husband might not be perfect, but I think you’ll find he makes a bit more effort after this,” he said.

“He’d better,” Seema replied.

As they arrived at the car, she paused. “I think we should resolve all our arguments this way,” she told the guy. “I like that you listened, and that you didn’t judge or talk over me.”

The guy opened the car door, and Seema climbed in. He was just about to close it behind her when she wedged it open with her hand.

“But don’t ever do it again,” she said. “You cunt.”