Creatures of Habit

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At 7.29am precisely the coffee machine splutters two identical cups of perfect coffee.

‘Can you pick up my suit from the dry cleaners?’  Susan nods and puts the cup on the table
.  Alan pushes the ticket in her direction.

‘I’ll need it tomorrow,’ he says.

No you won’t, thinks Susan, but she doesn’t reply.

Breakfast is in silence: two individuals drinking coffee and eating toast behind their paper, not even keeping up the pretence of a family.  Both finish at the same time, brush their teeth and get ready to go.  In passing, Alan pecks her cheek.

‘Don’t forget now’, he says.  Susan rolls her eyes.

 At 7.55am they both start their cars.  Hers is a Mini, his, an Audi.  Both cars are clean, well-maintained and sit side by side in the driveway.  As per usual, the Audi is first on the road.  Susan in her Mini follows close behind.

Just outside the village, the road forks.  They wave.  Alan goes right; Susan drives straight on.  She feels tension in her hands, butterflies in her stomach and concentrates on driving; never exceeding the 30 mph speed limit.

 At 7.57 she feels the explosion rather than hears it.  Out of the corner of her eyes she sees smoke to the right of her.  The speed limit changes to 40 mph; she would like to do 70.

The tension leaves her body; a smile comes bubbling up, becomes a chuckle, becomes a belly laugh.  She crumples the dry-cleaning ticket.

 At 7.59 precisely Susan switches on the radio to listen to the news.  She reaches for a mint.

It is to be her last.

 


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