“No, fuck it, or I’ll miss the train,” the tea pushed back at her, a kiss planted on her forehead as an afterthought. Haylee watched the bag, swollen with water bob up and down precariously as the flat door closed just a little too loudly. The lock slid into place. She picked up the plate scattered with crumbs from his half eaten crumpet with a sigh and smoothed the already smooth tablecloth. The tea, not drunk, went down the sink.
The house was always so empty after Tem left and the bustle of the
Tuesday, two days before the much anticipated Thursday, was market day.