‘Put the kettle on, dear,’ I call at the sound of the front door closing.
In answer I hear the kettle being filled, the click of its switch, the water bubbling angrily as it boils then the click as it switches itself off.
I smile at the sound of cupboards being searched; ever since we’ve had the kitchen replaced and reorganised my husband can’t find anything. He’s obviously found whatever he was looking for as there’s the clink of the spoon against china and footsteps on the stairs.
‘Milk, two sugars,’ the stranger says handing me a cup of tea.
In answer I hear the kettle being filled, the click of its switch, the water bubbling angrily as it boils then the click as it switches itself off.
I smile at the sound of cupboards being searched; ever since we’ve had the kitchen replaced and reorganised my husband can’t find anything. He’s obviously found whatever he was looking for as there’s the clink of the spoon against china and footsteps on the stairs.
‘Milk, two sugars,’ the stranger says handing me a cup of tea.
