She wasn’t hung-over from her night with Barbara and David, or even all that tired. She just felt like indulging herself, which she rarely did. And it was pouring with rain outside again. It was nice listening to it beating down on the iron roof, and she’d managed to stop herself worrying about the damage it might be doing. What will be will be. She put her mug down with a thud on the wooden chair she used as a bedside table and climbed back into bed, wondering why she didn’t do this more often. Grace leapt onto the bed and curled up at her feet, instantly warming them. Emily pushed the pillows up to support her and retrieved her mug. Leaning back into the plushness, she wallowed in a feeling of deep satisfaction. Why was she up before seven every morning, even weekends, when she didn’t have a job to get to – or anywhere else to be for that matter? The answer came to her as she took a deep sip of her coffee: because that was the way her mother had raised her.
