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The staccato click of Pam’s heels on the lino echoed too loudly in the emptiness of her spirit. Angie’s letter sat unopened on the kitchen table where Reg sat with a mug of tea resting in his chipped and stained hands. His eyes were hooded under drooping brows. Pam couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Click click click. Pam tripped across to take his dirty plate. Click click. She ran the water in the sink for the second time that morning and washed it, wiping her hands on her striped apron. The sun shone in the kitchen window, already hot and accusing.
They don’t care. Pam’s lipsticked smile twisted into a grimace as she caught sight of the letter again. She shifted her body sideways, trying to block it out of her vision. Reg stood up and brushed the toast crumbs off his old painting jumper onto the floor. He stood back, hands clasped, as Pam bustled over to sweep them. He opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it quickly, reached for his cigarettes and shuffled out the back door. Pam sighed, straightened Reg’s chair and set the table ready with the lunch dishes before washing up his mug.
Pam picked up the letter again, hesitated, then propped it up on the bench near the toaster. She was still standing staring at it when Reg returned some minutes later. His lined face wore an uncertain smile and he looked down at the floor as he handed her freshly picked bunch of his prized peony roses. ‘For you, Love”.
The tears burned in Pam’s eyes. “What? What’s this for?”
“For you, Love”, Reg repeated stoically. “I ah…don’t tell you enough I guess, but today’s as good a day as any for a once-in-a-blue-moon”.
Pam looked up into the blue eyes she’d rarely taken the time to see any more. Reg smiled at her.
“Put the kettle on Love, let’s open that letter”.
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