Breakfast.....

Annie padded softly along the hallway from her bedroom to the bathroom, where she sat on the toilet and shivered as the cold seat made contact with her skin. Her eyes were closed, a sign of her unwillingness to wake up and face the day. She often tried to trick her body into staying asleep when her bladder insisted she wake earlier than she
wanted. The trick almost always failed and today was no exception.

She flushed the toilet and stood at the basin to wash her hands; only now did she give in and open one eye in order to locate the soap. The mirror on the wall above the sink reflected her one-eyed image and she jerked the other eye open and stared at her own reflection in mock horror. Running one damp hand through her unruly hair, she stuck
her tongue out for a second and retracted it quickly, the thought of tea now uppermost in her mind.

Padding back along the hallway a few paces, she made a sharp right turn into the living room and continued right again and into the kitchen. The lino was cold underfoot and she cursed mildly at her slipper-less state, as she filled the bright yellow kettle with water from the tap. While the kettle boiled, she clinked around the tiny kitchen opening
cupboards and drawers automatically, locating cup, spoon and the necessary ingredients for the making of tea.

The tea was left to brew and Annie skirted the furniture in the living room as she moved towards the window to open the curtains, in order to let in the morning light . As the dust particles from the curtains danced wildly around the room, she retrieved her tea from the kitchen and sat on the sofa, facing the window. She sipped from her cup and exhaled loudly, reaching for the pack of cigarettes she kept by the phone.

Tea was followed by her one cup of coffee of the day. It was with the coffee that she swallowed her daily dose of medication prescribed by her doctor; the routine of coffee and tablets prevented any lapse of memory and she rewarded herself with another cigarette.

Realising that she could not last until lunchtime on one cup of coffee and a few cigarettes, her thoughts turned to breakfast. Back in the kitchen, Annie stared blankly at the boxes of cereal before her. There were bran flakes, wheat flakes ,oat flakes and cornflakes; not exactly exciting options she had to admit. Breakfast was more of a chore than a delight and she vowed to change this state of affairs by only eating things she actually liked, starting that very day. Cereal just didn’t do it for her any longer. Who actually liked bran flakes anyway? It felt good to finally admit that she didn’t like cereal, the only problem was what to have for breakfast now that cereal was off the menu?

She peered optimistically into the breadbin, toast high on her list of substitutes. One slice of slightly curly wholemeal met her gaze; not a very promising start. Annie sighed loudly. She was getting hungry and no sign of anything to fulfill her desire for an exciting breakfast. She scanned the kitchen in search of inspiration. Her eyes fell upon the fridge with its brightly coloured door magnets and she pounced eagerly.

Disappointment showed clearly on her face as she gazed at the contents. A carton of milk, one of juice, two bottles of water, a rather wrinkly half cucumber, three rapidly softening tomatoes and a plastic bag containing a few grapes. Sadly she closed the fridge door and leaned her back against it. It was then that she saw the answer to her prayers. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? It was right there in front of her all the time. The fruit bowl.

Annie washed , peeled, chopped and diced like a thing possessed, until she had produced a huge bowl of fruit salad. Her hands, the knife, the sleeves of her dressing gown, the counter and the kitchen floor were all dripping and sticky with fruit juices, but she didn’t care. She had the breakfast she wanted.

 George has a headache.....

Annie woke early, refreshed from a night of uninterrupted sleep. She opened her eyes and noted the empty pillow beside her, before turning over to face the window and snuggling under the blankets. The house was quiet and , with the children still sleeping, Annie was determined to make the most of the peace.

Charlotte was the first of the children to rise as usual and upon hearing no sounds emanating from downstairs, she padded to her parents bedroom to investigate. She pushed open the door and saw the lump in the bed on the far side, which indicated that her mother was still asleep. Unsure of what she should do, Charlotte tiptoed towards the sleeping form and jumped when Annie’s eyes popped open as she approached the bed. Charlotte gasped and giggled when she heard the rich tones of her mother’s laughter muffled by the blankets.

Annie lifted the bedcovers, beckoning, and an eager Charlotte clambered inside, still giggling.
‘Ssh’ Annie whispered ‘Don’t want to wake your brother, else he’ll want to join in and this here is girls only’
‘He ‘ll have to be a girl before he can come in’ Charlotte giggled ‘and wear a nightie’
‘And ribbons in his hair?’ Annie teased
‘And lipstick?’ Charlotte added hopefully
‘Stiplick?’ Annie said with mock horror ‘Oh my goodness gracious! Whatever is the world coming to?’
Their under-cover giggles were disturbed by the lifting of the blankets and a sleepy Simon stood before them, looking rather puzzled.
‘What’s up? ‘ he asked, rubbing his eyes with one hand and hitching his pyjama bottoms with the other
‘Wanna come in?’ Charlotte asked
‘Mmm’
‘Gotta wear a nightie and a ribbon in your hair girly boy’ she teased Annie noticed Simon’s bottom lip begin to tremble, his uncertainty clearly displayed on his face.
‘Nah baby. You can come in as mummy’s little helper’ she told him and his face brightened immediately as he scrambled under the covers.

The children enjoyed the all too rare closeness with their mother, but being children, their attention soon turned to more pressing matters, like wanting breakfast. Simon began to whine ‘I’m hungry....can I have krispies?’ His favourite cereals, for the moment at least.

Annie sat up ‘Shall we have breakfast in bed?’ she asked and the children nodded eagerly.
‘Okay then ‘she said, getting out of bed and reaching for her robe, ‘you pretend to be
asleep and I’ll be the maid bringing you your breakfast in bed, okay?’
Both children nodded again in agreement and lay down, pulling the covers up over their faces.
‘You’re asleep remember’ Annie said as she walked towards the door, smiling at the muffled giggles coming from the bed.

Closing the bedroom door behind her, Annie quickly ran down the stairs. Reaching the bottom and standing in the hallway, she glanced for a second at the closed living room door. She shivered slightly and moved along the passage to the kitchen where she began to fill bowls with cereal and mugs with juice. She collected spoons and a tea towel in case of accidents and loaded up the tray. As she worked, the hatch door seemed to glare at her and she was only too aware of what lay inside the room next door. She hadn’t even considered what she was going to do about the body, or how she was going to explain it to the children, but she had to keep them out of there until she had sorted it out ... that was for sure.

She was about to take the tray upstairs to the children, whose giggling was getting louder by the second, when she thought she heard a noise coming from the living room. Anxiously she looked around the kitchen, before breathing a sigh of relief...the cat. She must have shut the cat in there last night. ‘Oh well, moggy’ she said ‘serves you right. You can stay in there now until we’ve had breakfast’ and she walked along the hallway to the stairs.

 Sunday Dinner

Dinner on Sundays was actually lunch, and was always served promptly at 1.30pm. Family favourites would be playing on the radio with requests to the Smith family at some distant BFPO with love from auntie Mavis and all the family in Hornchurch. The programme’s signature tune also signalled time to make the gravy. Sunday dinner always consisted of some kind of roast meat and potatoes with two veg and Yorkshires when appropriate, and that was always followed by some kind of stodgy pud and thick custard for afters. George was a stickler for punctuality on Sundays, except that is, when he had something better to do. This particular Sunday, something better to do was named Betty and he had met her in the pub on Saturday night. He had left her full of beery promises and had arranged to meet her by the park gates at noon.

Betty was waiting for him when he strolled casually along by the perimeter of the park. She looked out of place amongst the locals in their Sunday best as she stood there, all blonde curls and tight skirt . When George drew alongside, she kissed his cheek, pressing her body against his and immediately suggested they go back to her place.

‘It’ll be more cosy and private like’ she said flashing her most seductive smile and wiggling her behind. George took her up on her offer without a moments hesitation and enjoyed two full hours of pleasure in her small flat. The flat itself wasn’t up to much but it had the essentials as far as George was concerned, a warm bed, a willing woman and a pantry full of ale.

George strolled home full of beer and sexual satisfaction at almost three in the afternoon. Annie was wild with fury. The dinner was ruined and she’d had no alternative but to feed the children when, with still no sign of their father, they had begun to whine with hunger. Annie half hoped he had been involved in some kind of horrible accident, although she knew that the truth was likely to be far more unsavoury and much less palatable.

George was livid that the family hadn’t waited on his arrival before eating lunch and he was yelling his displeasure from his seat at the dinner table. The children crouched in the doorway, ready to make their escape, as they watched the spectacle unfold before them.

George continued yelling at Annie as she carefully carried in his dinner , still hot from the oven. He was particularly vile in his abuse of her and Annie could feel the rage boiling up inside.

‘If you wanted your family to eat with you then you should’ve bloody well been here at dinner time’ she yelled back, as she plonked his dinner down on the table in front of him. Annie gazed in open-mouthed amazement as the force used was enough to make the old drop leaf table do exactly that, and the children giggled softly as they saw the table shift and deposit the hot meal straight into their father’s lap. It took several seconds for realisation to hit home and for the boiling hot gravy to seep through the material of his trousers. George leapt up and bellowed with pain. He pushed Annie aside as he rushed from the room, brushing veg from his flies and trying to rip the trousers from his body. The children scattered , running up the stairs out of harm’s way and Annie, unable to stop herself, burst out laughing. ‘That’ll teach you, you bastard’ she said softly to herself.

You managed to lead us nicely into your story with your build-up and gave us an insight into the main character's state of mind. Well described for the majority of the story but as someone mentioned the characters needed defining a little. You left the reader wondering about the body in the living room, which enhanced your story. I liked this Christa.

Feedback submitted by Bill Beasley at charbill56@hotmail.com on 21st Mar 2002

What a delightful read. You set the characters nicely. Myself I would appreciate just a tad of description on the characters, just to give me an idea of what they are. The unexplained body is a real teaser. Lots of ways to go with that. Good luck, Nightmare42 (Bill)

Feedback submitted by Ann Pask at marmicoma@hotmail.com on 27th Feb 2002

Feedback: Christa, the body in the living room? George? Was he still feeling the headache?
YOU GO GIRL! Warm that brutish George's lap! I stand in ROWDY hurrah to your Annie!

Feedback submitted by Neil Wlls at neilwills@cs.com on 23rd Feb 2002

Chrsta, I recognised some of the stuff in here. The 2 way family favourites. The kid in the bed in the morning. Late breakfast on Sunday with Dad down the pub. Is this built from your own experiences?

Feedback submitted by Giselle NiRiain at yekes@hotmail.com on 23rd Feb 2002

daarling! you are a gem! well done!

Feedback submitted by Ann Howard at Howardankh@aol.com on 23rd Feb 2002

Hi Christa, yea! Just one word: 'softly'! You'll know what I mean.