‘Don’t speak like that in front of Catherine, she can hear you.’ Acutely aware of his wife’s moods, his own words were muted and light, with an attempt at humour. He smiled down at three week old Catherine, and rubbed her belly with a light tickle. ‘Oh don’t do that, she doesn’t want a poo-ey han...
She wasn’t sure exactly when she became aware of it, how long she’d been listening to her body groan, but slowly, carefully, the awareness that this was real, her back was hurting, she was asleep, or had been, settled in her mind. It was dark, too dark; that wasn’t helping. Where was it, that it ...