They came home just after nine o’clock one chilly, damp November evening.
The house was dark and quiet, with no lights on, which made it feel a bit like a stranger’s place.
She said, “Is the front door shut properly? It can stick this time of year.”
He said, “I’ll check… Yes, it’s all closed up tight.”
She shivered a little. “It’s a bit nippy in here. Has the heating come on?”
He looked at the thermostat. “It’s set quite low for this time of year. Are we trying one of your economy things again?”
She was looking through the post, her eyes caught by one particular envelope.
He asked, “Anything wrong?”
She said, “I’m not sure. It looks very official, like a letter from the solicitor’s, all proper and legal.”
He smiled. “Shall I put the kettle on, or do you want to open it first?”
She opened the letter and read out loud, “It is now three months since we undertook to resolve your late husband’s legal affairs.”
She paused. “Is it really that long already?”
She glanced at the mirror and saw her pale, tired face. Then she switched on the kettle and went to check the front door once more.
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