by Dermot Mccabe

Created on: July 14, 2008

I Won't be Home for Lunch

'Gently now, don't rush, good lather first. This imperial leather is nice. Leather, how can a bar of soap be called leather?' Henry was careful not to cut himself. He always felt a vague sense of disapproval when a colleague or subordinate arrived at work with a shaving cut. It says something about a man, he thought, as he very delicately worked the razor blade into that awkward little crevice just under the nostril. I'm being too picky. Anyone can cut themselves. But still? Scuffed shoes. Now that's a horse of a different colour. Don't like it one little bit and I don't like people who wear scuffed shoe. No excuse for it. Henry rinsed his face in cold water. 'There we are.'

'Henry,' she called from the kitchen when she heard the bathroom door open, 'I am putting on the toast?'
'Yes, I'll try that new coffee too,' he shouted down to her. Henry dressed carefully. Shoes were last. Before putting them on he took the small army pouch he kept in the bedside locker and laid out polish, brush and the soft corduroy cloth for the final buffing. He enjoyed polishing his shoes and always felt uneasy whenever he had to skip this morning ritual.
'Henry, the toast is going cold.'
'Ok, I'll be down in a moment.' He combed his hair in front of the long wardrobe mirror. 'Right,' he said and went down stairs for his coffee and buttered toast.
'Morning,' he said.
'Morning, Henry.' Joan glanced approvingly at her husband. He sat down in his usual place. She was standing with the coffeepot in her hand. Everything was spotless. The cups, saucers and side plates were laid out and glistening. He popped open the cap of the olive oil tablets and manoeuvred one unto his open palm. He swallowed it with the usual glass small of cranberry juice already laid out for him. Joan picked a tiny piece of lint off the shoulder of his jacket, brushed the nap down with her hand and then poured the fragrant dark coffee. Henry added two spoons of brown sugar, stirred and raised the cup to his lips. She stood watching, the coffeepot still in her hand.
'Ahhh, that tastes good.' She smiled blissfully and put two lightly toasted slices of bread on his plate. He buttered them, cut them into strips and began to eat. Joan laid the coffeepot on the special hotplate she had brought back from Vienna. She sat down and resumed drinking the cup of tea that she had abandoned while serving Henry.
'It's a bit showery today Henry. Take your garberdine and umbrella.
'Right. That's excellent

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