❝ PICKET FENCE! ❞ → GRAY ✓

→ i.v

Act One, Scene Five

→ ❝ like we used to! ❞

             Carol woke to the scraping of the curtains against the rod as they were drawn. In her half-asleep daze, she was worried that it was a devil coming to drag her down to hell for not praying the night before, but soon forgot the thought as her brain woke up a little more. It definitely wasn't the most beautiful sound in the world, but the first thing she saw that morning made up for the irreparable damage done to her eardrums.

             "Good morning," through her squinted eyes she saw Michael stood at the foot of the bed, holding a silver tray with a pot of tea, eggs, and toast placed upon it. The sunlight behind him made him glow celestially, and Carol hoped that an angel like him would lead her to heaven one day.

             Carol lazed her arm across her eyes while she tried to wake herself up, "Good morning," she replied, clearing her croaky throat. God, what she wouldn't do for a cup of tea.

             She felt the bed sink beside her and assumed that it was Michael sitting down. Slowly opening one eye, she watched him pour tea expertly into two cups, careful not to overfill the cups. Carol enjoyed watching him do such little tasks; his intense care and attentiveness towards such meaningless things was one of the reasons she remembered falling in love with him.

             "You still take honey in your tea?" he asked, already pouring the sweet syrup into her cup and not realising that she was watching him.

             "Henry," she sat up and rolled her eyes, careful not to knock him, "It could be two years or two hundred years and I would still have honey in my tea." she took the cup and saucer from him, eager to get the tea down her, "Thank you."

             Carol wondered what Michael was doing as he brought a damp handkerchief to her face (expertly balancing his cup and saucer in his other hand), because although she was happy, she knew she wasn't happy enough to be crying. It was abrupt and felt almost out of place. Perhaps Michael had developed a need for glasses in his absence. She relaxed when she realised he was merely wiping away the dried trails of tears from the last night's events, and his gentle touch made her think that maybe Henry Johnson had never left her at all.

             A healthy combination of such close proximity with Michael and the morning sun heating up the room was causing Carol to become uncomfortably warm. She kicked the thick white bedsheets off herself and Michael (who had somehow managed to shuffle himself underneath them) before she could overheat, and took a sip of her tea. It was brewed to perfection and had just the right amount of honey and milk, and Carol almost didn't care that it burned her throat as she had her first sip.

             "So," Carol placed her saucer on the table (beside the glass of water from the night before), thinking it best to let the drink cool for a little before it burned her from the inside out. It landed with a louder 'clink' than she had hoped, and she prayed that she hadn't chipped Polly's china, "What are we doing today?"

             "I thought we could go to the park near here," Michael suggested, taking the top off Carol's boiled egg for her. He used to do it for her in Sheffield on the rare occasion that the Johnsons and Goodwins would had breakfast together, and Carol admired the way he managed to take it off in such a clean sweep, whereas she always managed to send little shards of shell into the rich yolk. "That is, if you want to." He placed a smaller tray on the girl's lap, balancing a plate piled high with toast and the egg cup onto it.

             Carol crunched on a slice of hot, buttery toast, forgetting her table manners, "I would love to! And I could make up a picnic, like we used to." She picked up the plate, offering Michael a selection of its contents, "You know I'll never eat all of this."

             "The maid can pack us some cake and sandwiches," Michael replied, dipping a piece of toast into the egg (to which Carol smacked his hand away, telling him to 'get his own egg'). "Then we can pick it up on the way back and head over, it's not too far a walk."

             "On the way back? Where are we going?" Carol asked, placing the tray beside her on the bed and turning so she could look at Michael better.

             "I've telephoned my cousins," he nodded, as if he was convincing himself that this was a good idea, "We're going to go to our pub in Small Heath and you can meet them all today."

             Carol thought for a moment, briefly distracted as she studied the way Michael's hair glowed in the pure morning light, "I've already met Thomas, and a, uh, a little ginger one."

             "Finn," Michael reminded her, letting a laugh escape his lips. Finn was probably taller than her by a good few inches.

             The young girl lay herself comfortably against Michael's chest, feeding him a piece of eggy toast while munching on her own dry piece. She felt at home near him, even if his shirts felt more expensive now and he used a different soap. "Well," she relaxed as Michael began to tenderly play with her hair, smoothing down the mess it had evolved into overnight. Her voice was soft, but just loud enough for Michael to hear and agree with her. "We don't need to go just yet. I'm rather comfortable here."