One jump and a life changes.
One call. Two words.
It has to be another disguise, a bloody good one. I will be rooting about in the fridge for milk, pushing aside jars and organs and perhaps I will sigh and he will pop in and ask me to fetch something from his pocket. (Reaching down is too much of an interruption. This is something I stopped arguing some time ago.)
Any time now.
I push the saucer back and forth and my leg shakes in unconscious anticipation.
The tea has gone cold.
Moving to the wingback, I tuck my knees in and steeple my fingers under my chin, wincing. Any further movement is a chore, and so I don’t.
The sky is a dark blue, bordering on black. Time passes.
Not enough time passes.
It’s then that I realise I always thought I followed too closely.
Now it’s evident that I was never close enough.