Andrew’s reading the paper on the sofa and Debbie’s on the computer. Classic FM murmurs in the background and spring rain patters silently on the floor to ceiling windows. It’s an overcast mid-morning but the automatic lighting warms the room. From the end of the walled-in garden they’re a human exhibit for small mammals and brave burglars.
“Have you seen this?” she asks.
“Seen what, dear?”
“This email from Ted.”
“What’s he got to say for himself?”
Andrew closes the cover on his tablet, stands up and wanders over to his wife. He rests his hands gently on her shoulders and peers at the screen. He is momentarily reminded of the miracle of laser eye surgery.
“Do you remember the other day, when I hadn’t quite heard what you’d said and you sniped at me and I snarled back?”
“You didn’t snarl, pumpkin, you purred,” he says and leans forward to plant a kiss on her cheek.