They’ve only been married three weeks, but he’s missing his mother.
‘She would always make these biscuits when I came home from school,’ he tells his wife. ‘Later, she’d bring them to university. And to work. They tasted of love. Do you think…?’
His young wife is young, determined to do her best for him. She spends hours baking, but he’s horrified at the result. ‘Our love is misshaped,’ he says. ‘And slightly burnt.’
Later, in his sleep, she hears him whispering the secret name his mother would call her special homemade biscuits. ‘Hobnobs,’ he says smiling, again and again.