“Shut the door!” the words are flung out by the older man startling the girl as she comes back across the threshold, “Your mum will get cold,” she squashes the bubble of anger that is a near constant in her gut, and closes the door quickly.
It’s cold enough that she needs a cup of tea, to bring some warmth back into her fingers. While waiting impatiently for the kettle to boil a couple of minutes later, she watches him bolt out of the back door. Instead of shutting it behind him as she expects, the door is left wide open and she can’t help the brief laugh that escapes at the lack of self awareness.
Copyright Emily Morris 2018