A quick tale 135

One Sunday in March

She hears clutter in the kitchen. She tries to ignore it. Pots and pans being rattled about. She turns over in her bed, pulls a pillow over her ears. You sleep in today, he had insisted. I'll bring you breakfast in bed. She had resisted the idea but relented eventually. Now she tries to relax. By thinking of things pleasant. Does she smell something burning? She hopes he isn't boiling milk in the large red saucepan. Did he remember to pick up milk bottles from the doorstep as there wasn't any left in the fridge? She wished he wouldn't put the spoon back into the sugar pot after stirring his coffee with it. What was that bang? That definitely sounded expensive. Could it be, she dared to despair, her favourite Wedgewood teapot? Let it be Ikea, Ikea, she prayed. Presently she hears approaching footsteps. She feigns sleep, smiles with her eyes closed. You spoil me so....