| |
––––––––
CHRISTOPHER BARKER rolled over and gently cocooned his wife Sandy with his body for an early morning snuggle. He nuzzled the back of her neck, inhaling the sweet smell of her skin, delighted he had woken before the alarm. ‘Good morning, beautiful.’
Sandy stirred and nestled herself into him.
He opened his eyes and spotted the clock over her shoulder on the bedside cabinet. ‘Crikey.’
‘Ear... loud...’ she grumbled.
‘Sorry.’ He bolted out of bed. ‘It’s eight-thirty. I didn’t hear the alarm. I’m late.’
Sandy rolled over and stretched. ‘I switched it off. You’re at the health centre this morning.’
‘Yes, but I have to go into work first.’
She pulled the duvet over her head. ‘Shh.’
Christopher shot out of the bedroom, then popped his head back around the door. ‘Remember we’re meeting for breakfast after my appointment.’ He disappeared into the bathroom without waiting for a response.
The sound of the shower drowned out the scutter of Sandy’s feet on the stairs.
It was as he crossed the landing to his dressing room that Christopher smelled bacon. The neighbours must be having a cooked breakfast, he thought, assuming the aroma must be wafting in through an open window. His stomach rumbled.
It was unheard of for him to sleep in. His job as a troubleshooting, quality control assessor for Henleys Bank took him all over the United Kingdom. He was usually based in a noisy city-centre hotel or apartment, where there was no need to set an alarm.
The smell of bacon grew stronger as he stole down to the kitchen, taking care to be quiet in case Sandy had dozed back off. He did a double take. She was standing at the cooker in her dressing gown, her long blond hair tied in a knot on top of her head and a spatula in her hand.
He stood, puzzled, in the doorway. ‘What’re you doing?’
She turned and laughed. ‘What’s it look like? I’m making you a bacon sandwich.’ Fat dripped from the spatula onto the floor.
‘Why?’
‘You said you didn’t have to fast for the blood test.’
Christopher pulled off a wad of kitchen roll and stooped down to mop up the grease. ‘But you don’t cook.’
‘Rubbish.’ She peered down at him and frowned. ‘Leave that. Yvonne will get it later.’
‘No need to create extra work for her. And we don’t want her thinking we’re Clampits.’
Sandy threw her head back and guffawed. ‘What are you like? She’s paid to clean.’
‘Is there a cuppa on the go?’
‘Sorry, I’ve been busy making your breakfast.’
He filled the kettle. A cup of instant would have to do. ‘I don’t understand why you’re cooking when we’re going to Alessandro’s. That’s why I was going into work early, to get a head start.’
She looked at him, nonplussed.
‘I just reminded you, upstairs.’
‘Must have been half-asleep.’ She yawned. ‘Anyway, you’re the boss, you set your own hours.’
‘I had a couple of things I wanted to do.’ He took two mugs from the cupboard. ‘It’s strange – I know I’ve only been at the Earlby Street branch for two months, but I really like it there.’
Sandy studied his face without saying anything.
‘What?’
She picked a bread bun from the packet and tore it open with her hands. ‘It’s not like you to become attached to a place.’
‘I know. And I love living at home.’
Sandy smiled at him. ‘It’s been fantastic having you here for longer than a weekend. Such a shame you’ll soon be off to Milton Keynes.’
Christopher sighed and nodded. ‘I’m not looking forward to moving on at all this time.’
Sandy gazed at the ceiling, as the bacon sizzled in the pan. ‘If I hadn’t met you, I might have had a chain of beauty salons by now.’
He felt a familiar twinge of guilt. Sandy could have stayed in one place and continued with her business plans when they got married, but she chose to move around with him. It was only when Emily was on the way that Sandy had agreed to settle in one place. And then, with a baby to care for and a husband only home at weekends, her career plans were shelved indefinitely. He would always be grateful for the sacrifices she had made. It was one of the things that drove him to do well, to provide the best life possible for his wife and daughter. ‘You can still do it.’
‘I will. I can’t wait to set up my own business. It’ll be great. Once Emily’s grown up.’
He chuckled. ‘She’s living with her fiancé. If you’re serious, you could speak to an adviser at the bank. We have a start-up course for small businesses. You know, brush up your knowledge and consider you options.’
She shot him a sideways glance. ‘Maybe after the wedding, there’s still so much to arrange.’
He checked his watch. ‘Would you be able to drop me at the health centre, please?’ In hindsight, he should have dropped the car into the garage for its MOT this morning rather than last night.
‘Sorry, babe. I’ve got an early appointment with the wedding coordinator.’ She gave a little sniff. ‘That’s why I can’t meet you.’
‘I was looking forward to that.’ He poured water and milk onto the instant coffee and took a mouthful. ‘Are you picking up Emily on the way?’
‘She doesn’t need to be there today. I’ve got a few things to go over with Margot.’ Sandy shot her mug a look of disdain. She left the bacon cracking and spitting in the pan, while she filled the coffee machine with water and popped in a pod.
Christopher took another mouthful of his and picked up his briefcase. ‘Sorry, love. It’s a lovely gesture to cook for me, but I’m going to have to dash.’
Sandy looked at him, her huge blue eyes filled with disappointment. The abandoned bacon continued to sputter.
He was itching to switch off the hob, but he didn’t want to offend her further. ‘It’s just with my car being in the garage.’
‘Can’t you eat it on the way?’
He eyed the blue smoke swirling up from the frying pan. ‘Okay. I might make it if I cut through the park.’ Earlby Health Centre was a two-mile drive but half as far on foot across Cherry Park.
Christopher felt his whole body relax at the sound of the hob clicking off. He reached into the fridge for the butter and picked up a knife, just as Sandy plopped the frazzled meat into the dry bun.
‘Here you are,’ she said, proudly holding it out to him.
Abandoning the butter, he accepted the burnt offering. The top of the bun had a thumb-shaped hole in it. ‘Mmm, lovely. Thanks.’
Christopher kissed her cheek. ‘See you tonight.’
He closed the front door to the sound of the coffee machine percolating into action. As he strode off along the street, a neighbour waved from her garden.
‘Morning, Mrs Graham,’ he called, waving his bacon bun. He briefly considered throwing it over the hedge to her dog which was sniffing around the garden. Guilt stopped him – that would be ungrateful.
He continued on his way, feeling lucky to have such a caring wife. How many men, he wondered, had wives who would drag themselves out of a cosy bed to make them a lovely breakfast?
Christopher bit into the bun and winced as he felt a piece of rock-hard rind pierce his gum. Should have brought a bottle of water, he thought, as he set about trying to unstick the bread from the roof of his mouth and chew it into a swallowable form.
