Lucy Dent, not the author’s real name, tells the story in the first person of a woman who gets deeply involved with online relationships. Why? Well, there she is, in a chatroom, telling a stranger she’s naked. Meanwhile, her husband, who sleeps in a different room, snores away, oblivious. The night passes quickly. The husband wakes up. Dent hears the sounds of his ablutions — the shower, the toothbrush, “a sustained fart”. She tells us about her depressive mum. And also her mostly absent father (“Ken Loach territory”). And the chance meeting with her future husband, who was nice but drank and loved racing. Sad. And compelling.