Monday, 4 March 2013

308: The Invisible Man

Claudine can tell Ian exists because there are socks on the floor and she always wears nylons.  And because there is no milk left but the carton has been returned to the refrigerator.  The full bin bag in the kitchen fliptop has been taken out to the wheelie and a new black sack lines the bin.  A wet towel sits in a heap behind the bathroom door, but there is a bent hook on the hanging rail so it probably was hung up then fell off.

Claudine thinks a hairy body with cold feet climbed into bed but she had taken a sleeping pill so she did no more than stir.  The shirt she left to dry on a hanger overnight is gone and the iron plate is warm.  Ian’s car keys are not on the hook, just like they weren’t last night when she turned in.

She made him sandwiches for lunch as always and he left them in the refrigerator, as always.  Claudine will have them for lunch because waste not, want not.  Ian will probably buy a baguette from the deli, the one she has never been in.  Claudine promises herself a baguette one day.

Claudine knows Ian was there because he always is, even though she doesn’t always see him.  And because she woke up sticky between her thighs, like always.

No comments:

Post a Comment