Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

JoMazelis

so that she could snuggle under. He would be in his cocoon of a sleeping bag, the mattress beside him, pink and bare, slippery, cold and unyielding. In the morning she would make up his bed properly, take away that sleeping bag, put it in the wash or at least turn it inside out and put it on the line to air in the spring sunshine. She might also confess her lies. She took a few steps closer to his room, wanting to sense his nearness, to hear his breathing. Then smiling to herself, she returned to her room, undressed, got properly into bed and in seconds she was asleep. She was awoken by a door banging downstairs and ran to the window in time

to see Lawrence jogging down the path towards the gates. She could just make out the thin white wires of an MP3 player trailing from the pocket of his sweatshirt. She took a long shower, shaving her legs, then applying body lotion. She had neglected herself for too long. She put on a dress she’d found in one of the wardrobes. It was worn soft with age and there was a tear beneath one of the arms, but it was a pretty print and a flattering style. She made up the bed in the master bedroom and hung his sleeping bag on the line to air. She was in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, when a sudden breeze fluttered at her bare legs, preceding the slammed front door.

106