Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

Ritual, 1969 [two stories]

‘Do you want lunch?’ she called. He came and stood beside her, gently touched her shoulder. ‘This is nice. You look pretty in a frock.’ He paused a moment, then kissed her cheek. ‘I need a soak,’ he said. ‘Not used to this much exercise. Won’t be long.’ She switched the radio on, turned up the volume and fairly danced about the kitchen, washing lettuce, chopping tomatoes, cucumber, spring onions. She fried mushrooms, leftover potato, onions and ham, then set them to one side, meaning to add the beaten eggs at the last moment. Everything grew cold in the pan as the minutes went

by. She sipped her tea and went to the window, the apple tree was in blossom and the rhubarb was unfurling its giant leaves. His sleeping bag was hanging on the line like a great bat, its wings folded and its head down. Lifeless. How long had he been upstairs? Too long, she thought, and her heart seemed to flutter inside her chest, to quiver like an insubstantial jellyfish. She raced up the stairs, the bathroom door was shut and no sound came from behind it. As she looked she sawa trail of watery footsteps stepping from the bathroom and crossing the landing. Each print evaporated as a new one appeared. *

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