We wake. Or rather, I wake, and find you looking at me.
I ask, “What are you looking at?”
You say, shifting off your elbow, to lie back again, “I was not looking. I thought there was a mosquito,”
It is morning and the house is still quiet. I want to lean in until my breath is tickling your ear and I can see myself in your eyes.
My stomach tightens as I feel your fingers stroking tufts of my hair and I try not to sigh.
You say, “Lie still.”
I ask, “Would you?”
“You never listen,” you complain, as you try to squirm my chin off your shoulder.
I ask, “Do you want me to?” looking for your lips.
“I’ll crush them,” you laugh, and I can’t see the sunlight trying to make its way through the curtains. Only you.
“What are you looking at?” You ask.
“I’m trying to watch the TV,” I say.
“The TV is not on,” you’re laughing again. The juice foams noisily in the jar as you shake it.
“It must be very cold,” I say, “I’m surprised there’s electricity today. Someone must have forgotten to switch off.”
“There’s even some ice,” you say, filling four glasses, “What should we do today?”
“We should go to the gardens,” I propose. The corners of your lips crinkle into a smile, “The real gardens,” I add, “Or walk.”
Mark and Ian are playing balloon volleyball in the road, “Ian twirls like a dancer,” you laugh, lunging forward , to punch back into the air, the balloon floating towards us.
Mark screams, “Mummy! Here!”
“I should take a picture of you,” you say, but don’t move. Mark is asleep in the crook of my arm and Ian is insisting on trying to find room in my lap too with his Strawberry yoghurt can he will not place down for a moment.
“You could help me,” I frown, sitting up a dozing Ian in the tub, as I scrub his armpits, but you don’t put the camcorder down.
I’m turning out the lights, when I find you, in the blue glow of the silent TV, curled where I sit, smiling.
~~~This Charming Life-Joan Armatrading ~~~