Sunday, 4 March 2012

‘ as I was saying, Robert thought we should sell but I wasn’t  sure...Is that my wine?...he thought now would bring in the most profit....Does this need stirring Love? we looked at the figures and you know what?? He was actually right...Oh great is this my shirt for tomorrow? I’ll just go and....’

Her husband, fresh and smelling woody and earthy from his evening shower circled the kitchen picking up where he had left his daily round-up narrative. He went from base to base, working his way round with practised efficiency, first the worktop by fridge; where wine was waiting, then the hob; to check what was for dinner, to the utility area; finding clothes for the next day, and lastly back to the door where he vanished  leaving a trail of earthy scent in his wake. On seeing Daddy disappear Charlie took up his scent and after wriggling and writhing was released from his embrace, his chubby little legs mounting the stairs as if climbing Everest.

Alone again in the kitchen she went to the hob to stir the dinner, on finding it a little dry she reached for the wine, listening to the gurgle as it splashed into the pan she reached for her glass topped it up once more.  She held the cut crystal glass, now heavy with oak and blackberries, and took a long sip closing her eyes and losing herself in the smoothness and roundness and adultness of it.

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