THE SHOUT OF A KING

By Tessa Harvey

Relieved, Moira noted no lights were on, and making most of the reprieve, hurried indoors, switching on lights as she went, and turning on the heat pump.

There were no messages on her phone. That was no surprise. Gradually, all contact had been lost with family and friends. How had so much been eroded so swiftly?

Moira glanced outside, biting her lip nervously. Quickly, she straightened her clothes and adjusted her hair. The face in the looking glass looked drawn and pale and thin.

A car door slammed in the stillness and she hastened to the door, ready to welcome her husband as expected.

He came in, tall and strong, and gave her his coat and briefcase. Hastily, she stowed them in their correct places. He waited, dark eyes expectant and critically appraising.

His blond hair was immaculately groomed, as he was himself from deep blue shirt, and matching jacket and trousers. His shoes still shone from last evening's brushing. She had done well.

Moira ventured a few words. "How was your day, Simon?" Ignoring the question, he queried "Where have you been?"

He saw her startled look and in a bored voice "Your car bonnet is still warm," he stated.

Moira stuttered a little, which always annoyed him. "Just out to watch the waves."

"You weren't looking at anything in particular? Not thinking of leaving me already?" the mocking voice taunted.

The woman flushed at the accuracy of his statement.

"I will always find you," the man stated and strode down the hallway to wash his hands for tea. The routine never varied: the "welcome", the inspection for dust or slovenliness on his wife's part, then tea, newspaper, preparation for his work tomorrow at the office, and finally, bed.

Because everything was so ordered, life was easier in that way for Moira.