Four plus sixty six.

Here/November 2020

The moon Is bright in this late November night, but she is not yet full; a white horse stands in the meadow by the bridge, clearly visible in the moonlight, two dogs stand at the side of the road, lost and waiting and Martine’s bike leans against the wall of the supermarket where Martine is working on the cash till. It is only five minutes past six.

 

Bram enters the supermarket he is laughing at something with his friend, neither of them is wearing a mask. Martine wearily reaches for the box of surgical issue and hands them one each; there are still two hours before she will get home.

 

The dark will be darker and she has no lights on her bike, autumn and the shortening of the day has caught her by surprise once again but she knows the way home with her eyes closed; there will be no traffic at that hour to confuse her. That close to the curfew only the dogs and foxes will be wandering the streets.

 

I choose a pack of beer, then add a second; last night everyone wanted a bottle. I take something for the cat, something for the birds and some coffee, I’m sure someone will want that in the morning though I myself will be drinking tea. I look at the chocolate but decide against it, I buy some candied fruit.

 

My daughter is waiting in the village at a friend’s so I take the lane by the old church and come to an untidy stop outside, untidy because i stalled. Vero is in the house, inbetween her leaving her boat in Porto and returning there in January to continue her sailing past Gibraltar and into the Mediterranean. She points this out on the map and then explain that she forgot that she was married when the civil Guard asked her to fill in landing papers; she has been at sea for four months.

 

It’s my birthday soon.

 

I have been here for a lot longer.