Around 4 this morning...

... I was woken by what I thought was the sound of our front door being very quietly opened. I held my breath and listened. Quiet movements. A click as the catch shut. Was the person inside or outside? More movements. Was it an intruder being quiet in our house or a bit less quiet next door? Perhaps our neighbour was returning from an uncharacteristic night on the tiles. Feet on stairs. Hers? Ours?
 
It wasn’t unlike the sound of our son returning from his teenage nights out but he left home years ago. Had he come back? Or had someone found a mislaid door key. Or picked the lock? Footsteps on the landing. Or was it next door? Our son’s bedroom door opening. Closing. Opening again.
 
I got up.

‘Hello?’ I called quietly.
‘Hello.’

Our son. He doesn’t live far from us. Why would he turn up at 4am?

‘You all right?’
‘Yeah. Fine. G’night.’
‘Gnight.’
 
I went back to bed.
 
Footsteps again.
‘Is there a duvet?’ (He took his when he moved out and somehow the replacement has recently gone too.)
‘Try your sister’s room.’
‘Nope.’ (Ah yes, she took hers when she moved out.)
….

He admitted this morning that even though it didn't take us long to locate the duvet that leaks feathers, it probably would have been easier to cycle the extra 12 minutes to his place than to go on a bedding hunt in the small hours. But it was good having him around  for the morning.



Black and white in colour 54