by Gigi Fenster
Morris will drive David’s car home. Later he’ll go to David’s for a celebratory dinner. Debbie will make the chicken dish that everyone loves and Wendy’s crocodile man will snap his hands at Emma.
Morris does not say, Maybe Rachel would prefer to be alone.
The cat is at the front door. It weaves round Morris’s ankle as he finds the right bunch of keys. Mrs Mac might not have fed it enough. Morris will see to it shortly. But first there is something he must do.
He goes to his bedroom that is exactly as he left it a day ago.
His wardrobe is squat and smug. Hiding something. He opens the door, pushes hangers aside to reveal, pushed flat against the inside wall, Sadie’s coat.
‘I’ll come back for the coat,’ Rachel had said. ‘It won’t fit into these bags. I’ll take it separately next time I’m here.’
On Morris’s computer a window had flown into a window had flown into a window. Morris had raised his hand. ‘See you tomorrow then,’ and listened as the dustbin bags heaved their heavy way out of the house.
Rachel forgot to come back for the coat. Morris didn’t remind her.
He moves the clothes aside to give the coat more breathing space.
He takes Rachel’s notebook from his wallet and slips it into the pocket of Sadie’s coat.
Slowly, as gently as if he was easing an ill woman into a sitting position, he lifts the coat from the hanger and up to his face.
Maybe now, Morris thinks, I will cry.
There’s a faint whiff of lavender and cloves.
