The marketing is done, and the proceeds put away. The chores are done, and the dog has had a walk. Herself is on the sofa, reading the more obscure parts of the newspaper. This weekend, the Parent was on the red chair, reading bits of the paper that made her laugh. The Hound was on the sofa, on a blanket, reading the inside of her eyelids.
I'm ready to start cooking. It's all planned and I've worked out the timings in my head. So for now I'm reading Penelope Fitzgerald's sweet, funny letters, and waiting for 6pm when the sun will go over the yard-arm and I can have a glass of wine and a crisp.
Outside, the tide is receding. Gulls scream and wheel, curlews burble and whirr. The sky is pinked and hazy.
Inside it is quiet, but for the odd giggle from me or the Parent, and the dog's snoring. Soon we will stir ourselves once more, for dinner and chatter and a film. But for now we are quiet, separate, together.
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oooh i can just picture you all. i really can!
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