‘It’s freezing in here,’ said Cynthia.
‘I didn’t want to leave the heating on,’ said Imogen.
‘I’ll switch it on and then make us a cup of tea,’ said Cynthia marching towards the thermostat.
‘You don’t have to stay,’ said Imogen.
Henry stood in front of his wife.
‘Imogen love, I don’t understand. It’s making me ill, all this.’
Cynthia picked up Henry’s briefcase. ‘You should put this away. It’s only going to upset you.’
Imogen nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Just a minute,’ cried Henry.
Cynthia opened the hall cupboard door and threw the briefcase inside. Was Imogen going to allow that? That case had been part of Henry for most of his adult life. It was like throwing Henry himself into the cupboard. Henry heard it crash to the floor.
‘Hey, now hold on,’ shouted Henry to no avail as Imogen walked past him to the kitchen.
‘I don’t think you should be alone,’ Cynthia said, following her.
‘She’s not alone. I’m here,’ shouted Henry.
I don’t know why I’m shouting, thought Henry. It didn’t really matter how much he raised his voice. If they couldn’t hear him, then they couldn’t hear him. His father shouted at foreigners as though the louder he spoke the more likely they were to understand his English. He did it with elderly people too, as though all of them were deaf. Ignorant, was his father. But most of that generation were. He’d been surprised when they’d moved to Spain. That was the other funny thing. His dad never saw Spain as a foreign country. It was an extension of England for him. There were plenty of fry-ups and fish and chips to suit him. Henry sometimes thought Spain was more English than England.
Imogen sat on a kitchen chair and Henry realised that the business most certainly hadn’t been sorted at all. That Imogen still looked pale and tired. There were fine lines around her eyes. She hasn’t been putting on her night cream, thought Henry. Those lines wouldn’t be there if she had.
‘It was a lovely service,’ Cynthia said, clicking on the kettle. ‘You did Henry proud.’
Imogen didn’t reply.
‘There could have been more of my friends there,’ grunted Henry. ‘Better flowers too, those looked half dead if you ask me.’
But no one was asking him, were they?
Cynthia opened the fridge and sighed.
‘These sausages should go in the freezer,’ she said. ‘The date is almost up.’
‘You can throw them,’ Imogen said sadly. ‘I can’t think about food.’
Henry watched despondently as the sausages were thrown into the rubbish bin.
‘Let me make you a sandwich,’ said Cynthia moving things around in the fridge.
‘I wish you’d leave things alone,’ snapped Henry. ‘We don’t like other people going through the fridge, bacteria and all that.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ said Imogen.
Henry let out a long sigh and sat opposite Imogen at the table.
‘She’s taking over you know,’ he muttered.
Imogen stared at the floor.
‘Well, I don’t know,’ Henry grumbled. ‘If I’m dead I wish someone would let me know. Surely there’s somewhere for me to go.’
