Michael

I amble into the kitchen to the mixed smells of toast, peppermint and coffee. Mitch, Beth and Charlotte are gathered around the breakfast table. Plastering a smile on my face, I try to sound cheerful. “Morning all.”

“Morning, Michael,” smiles Beth. She still looks tired, but like Charlotte, is still going through the stage of not wanting to let go of Adam. He coos in her arms and she keeps her attention on him.

Charlotte speaks quickly, then looks away. “Hi.”

Mitch nods, then sips from her teacup, looking down.

Have I said something I shouldn’t?

Offended one of them?

Snagging a couple of oranges, I head for the squeezer and slice the first one in half. “Juice, anyone?”

“I’ll have some,” says Charlotte. “And squeeze some for Mom too, please.”

“Sure thing.” I grab another couple of oranges, running a quick mental inventory of what I’ve said and done this morning and the evening before…

Beth was tired… Hardly surprising. But certainly not upset. Triumphant would be nearer the mark.

Did I say something to offend her?

Nah…

What then?

squeezer hums and spins, shooting a thin jet of juice

Fuck!

then dribbling down my face

grab for the paper towels I swipe down

it makes a convenient excuse for me to

an air of huddle

orange juice would have

in, heads close, talking quietly. This is beyond

I’m inching towards conspiracy…

hell’s

the tabletop, lying

a

way. Three sets of copper hair sway, then

wand. Two blue lines stare up at me. “Charlotte? Didn’t you want to

to speak, but I’m still talking… “It’s pretty soon after the first, I

head… “Michael, it’s

“Charlotte… It’s marvellous…”

“Michael, it’s not mine.”

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