An Unbooked Sunday

I arrived at Gethin’s on Sunday with a change of clothes and a bag of oranges. The clothes were an honest declaration. The oranges required explanation.

“I passed a shop,” I said.

He took one look at the bag and laughed. “It’s difficult, isn’t it?”

“I wanted an orange. You may have one if your behaviour merits it.”

“Come in. I’ll do my best.”

He kissed me in the doorway, one hand on the strap at my shoulder. I let the bag slide down my arm until he caught it, then kissed him properly. We had seen each other on Thursday and Friday. Saturday had seemed unnecessarily long.

Inside, his coat was on a kitchen chair and the blue plate from the market was on the table with a heel of bread on it. No elaborate lunch had been prepared. I liked this until I realised how hungry I was.…