“These sheets smell funny,” said my wife, as I climbed into bed. I felt a small surge of panic. I had noticed that she’d changed the linen on our bed, but it was only then that I realised which sheets she’d used.
“Do they?” I replied, innocently. In truth, I knew that they did. And I knew what they smelt of. It was an odour that anyone who regularly cleans an airgun would recognise. Sarah was holding the duvet cover to her nose. “Yeah,” she said, thoughtfully. “It's a familiar smell, I just can't place it.”
I turned off the light and waited, grimacing in the darkness for the penny to drop. But after a moment she lost interest, said goodnight and rolled over to sleep. I lay there, suddenly…