‘Sorry?’
He glared, enunciating this time. ‘Not… quite… six.’
‘Are you in pain?’
‘No.’
‘Is the house on fire?’
‘No.’
‘Are either of us in danger of imminent death?’
‘You mean more than usual?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
I rolled over, turning my back on him. ‘Then go away. It’s too early.’
I waited a few minutes. There was a distinct lack of sound behind me.
‘You haven’t moved, have you,’ I mumbled into my pillow.
‘I’ve been up for an hour,’ he said. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘So get yourself something to eat.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, toast.’
‘I don’t want toast.’
‘Cereal then.’
‘I don’t want cereal.’
I stifled a scream. ‘Then whatdoyou want?’
‘Porridge.’
‘You really want porridge in this heat?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fine. Then have porridge.’
‘I will. When you get up and make it for me.’
‘Make it yourself.’
‘I can’t. My hip hurts if I stand on it for too long.’
‘You’re standing on it right now.’
‘And it’s hurting.’
