No lights were on. He’d rushed up East Hill like a bat out of hell, checking his watch every second or so, worried in case she was fretting, fearful, waiting for him – the meeting had gone on so late. To make matters worse he’d stopped off at the flower shop on Watling Street and the old woman had taken an age wrapping up the flowers, snapping off the stalks with her red swollen fingers. ‘Are they for me?’ she’d cackled once or twice; and he’d smiled a little despairingly and entered into the thing: ‘Not tonight, I’m afraid. Not tonight.’ And then: ‘Is she bonny?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ he’d replied, ‘she’s bonny alright.’ And she was. He’d give up the world for her if he had to, and she knew it, which was probably why she treated him so badly. Not even married yet and henpecked half to death... he wondered what sort of a mood she was in tonight. No lights was a bad sign, no smell of dinner cooking in the oven. He was surprised how much that annoyed him, after all there was often no dinner – the rats ate better than they did.
What do You think about Seahorses Are Real (2013)?
