Sometimes I will be visiting a friend (and it could be any one of many); and we will be as thick as thieves – curled up in couches and laughing, sipping tea and juggling children, when her husband will arrive home. And he, whom I will generally like, will on this day be in a foul mood and will fume at his wife, just a little, not so much as to be a bully but enough to stop our conversation. Did you realise the children have been throwing toys off the veranda, he tripped over them on his way inside? There may be some sideways glance from him across the room, too, lingering for just a moment on the upturned sippy cup on the floor.