Interview Day

Early morning in early July. Grey and wet and cold again. She turned
the heating on and made a brew. Nothing to smoke this morning, it's
interview day. While he was in the bathroom she ironed his shirt. She
thought fondly of the times she'd ironed her father's shirts when her
mother had been too busy. He'd always seemed so grateful for such a
small thing that she wished she'd had the opportunity to have ironed
his shirts more often. The collar didn't look right but she'd make it
perfect later. Everything was fine, exciting even. He was almost ready
to get dressed. She went back to bed not wanting to be in the way. The
birds stopped singing as he stood up and looked in the mirror. "You
fucking idiot" he screamed, face red and contorted. The woman doing the
washing-up next door closed her kitchen window. The girls in the flat
above stopped laughing. "Colonel Blinkey strikes again." And again,
"You fucking idiot. Why don't you get some proper glasses? What am I
going to do with that?" He was laughing at her now but his face was
still red. "Colonel fucking Blinkey" he screamed in her face and went
back to the bathroom.