Hadn’t before noticed this love letter to her future husband near the start of Zadie Smith’s White Teeth:
[T]he schoolgirls of St Jude’s kept to the tried and tested formula. Though Ryan would never be privy to the conversations of the school’s changing rooms, Clara knew. She knew how the object of her affections was discussed, she kept an ear out, she knew what he amounted to when you got down to it, down amongst the sweat and the training bras and the sharp flick of a wet towel.
‘Ah, Jaysus, you’re not listening. I’m saying, if he was the last man on earth!’
‘I still wouldn’t.’
‘Ah, bollocks, you would!’
‘But listen: the whole bleedin’ world has been hit by the bomb, like in Japan, roight? An’ all the good-lookin’ men, all the rides like your man Nicky Laird, they’re all dead. They’ve all been burnt to a crisp. An’ all that’s left is Ryan Topps and a bunch of cockroaches.’
‘On me life, I’d rather sleep with the cockroaches.’