William and I staggered home. It seemed
like Mrs Eames had fallen into a coma.
I was afraid to ask more, in case the
news was bad. Our kitchen larder was
completely bare. There were clear
practical repercussions here. We might
both starve with Mrs Eames sick in
hospital. I rummaged around for some
loose change. William stuck his fingers
behind the sofa cushions. He found a
pound coin. We could stretch to a tin
of beans, and maybe a bread roll each.
I tried not to think about breakfast.
There was a tap at the door. I went
to answer. Sitting on our step were
two large fabric bags of shopping.


Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist

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