He can't bear it any longer. Abruptly he starts hacking at the bits that stick out with a pair of culed nail scissors.
"Good luck with the rest of your life," she shouts up the stairs. "You'll need it!" She closes the front door gently.
The shorn bits of Peter Churlish's moutache have mostly fallen into the washbasin.
"It's time to start a new chapter" he announces to the mirror, for there is no one else around.
Wednesday is the day Churlish buys most of his groceries. It's Friday, but what the hell. Groundhog grocery, day, ha, ha. Even repetition can be a new start. Anything to repress the nagging feelings of failure and loneliness.
"Don't you recognise me?" he asks the girl at the minimart till. She's usually quite flirtatios. "I've shaved my moustache off."
"Wouldn't know, dear. Only began this morning."
He feels embarassed he hadn't looked more closely at her. "What's happened to... Cheryl" At the last moment he remembers the name on the usual chashier's badge.
"Oh, she's been murdered. Didn't you see it the paper? Loads of blood in the bath."
He gapes.
"That'll be twenty four pounds fifty three. Pull you card in there. They've arrested the boyfriend. Apparently he's good at karate."
"He didn't do it."
"How do you know?"
"I am," Peter Churlish decides,emphatically, "A Private Investigator."
