Bea stretched out in bed, enjoying those last few moments of peace and quiet. She usually woke to the sound of Maggie turning on the television and radio downstairs. Dead on half past seven, Maggie would clump in with a cup of tea and draw the curtains back. It was amazing how some people could make so much noise, just by drawing the curtains back. This morning, there was nothing but silence. No cup of tea, either. And nobody to make breakfast for them. Oliver wouldn’t. Oliver couldn’t. It might be a good idea for Maggie to give Oliver some lessons in looking after himself, basic cookery for bachelors, that sort of thing. Bea got herself dressed and went downstairs to find Oliver in the kitchen, looking lost even though his box of muesli was staring him in the face on the worktop. Bea passed him bowls, plates, mugs, and milk. She put on the kettle, made toast, asked if he wanted anything cooked and realized she was acting just as Maggie did. Oliver got outside his plate of cereal in record time.
