One Day

by David Nicholls

‘What kind of day have you had, Jas?’ A voice from the living room. ‘I wish you wouldn’t call her that. She’s Jasmine, not Jazz.’ Sylvie lies on the dust-sheet-covered sofa, reading a magazine. ‘Jazz Mayhew is awful. Makes her sound like a saxophonist in some lesbian funk band. Jazz.’ He drapes his daughter over his shoulder and stands in the doorway. ‘Well if you’re going to name her Jasmine, she’s going to get called Jas.’ ‘I didn’t name her, we named her. And I know it’s going to happen, I’m just saying I don’t like it.’ ‘Fine, I’ll completely change the way I talk to my daughter.’ ‘Good, I’d like that.’ He stands at the end of the sofa, glances at his watch showily, and thinks A new world record! I’ve been home, what, forty-five seconds, and already I’ve done something wrong!

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