Ghosts in the Morning Read Free

own’ , but It was easier to make it myself . T he coffee machine was my pride and joy – Italian, expensive – and I didn’t like Graham touching it. His fingers were too fat, too impatient, and I didn’t want him to break the machine. Like he had the last one.
    ‘ Daniel still in bed, is he? S houldn’t he be up by now, he’ll be late for work. ’ Graham said, without looking up from the paper.
    ‘No, he hasn’t got to go in today. His boss is a b it quiet at the moment, I don’t think that he’s got m uch work on at the moment ,’ I replied, but Graham wasn’t listening , he’d switched off after the word ‘ no’ . I may as well have been a wall. I spoke to the wall sometimes – during one-sided conversations with Graham I would say ‘ yes, that’s a great idea, thank you wall ’ or ‘ no wall, that’s fine, no thanks ’ – but my mocking sarcasm usually went unheard. It made me feel better, though.
    ‘Bloody hell, can you believe the brass neck of these bloody Ministers. We’re in the middle of a bloody recession – and it is a recession, no matter what they call it – and they go swanning off a business trip to Singapore. Like that’s going to help. Bloody i diots.’
    ‘I’ve never been to Singapore . I remember reading once that you get fined for eating chewing gum there , is that right?’
    ‘Eh, what?’ Graham snapped, without looking up.
    ‘Oh, nothing.’
    Graham tossed the paper onto the kitchen table and went into the hall to pick up his briefcase. ‘Bye then’, he called, then he was gone, the door slamming. The hinges needed looking at, I had told Graham, but that was months ago. I would do it myself, but he never let me touch his tools. He e ven pathetically had a combination lock on the tool cupboard in the garage . I wondered if he kept a stash of girlie magazines in there.
    Years ago, Graham used to kiss me on the lips before he went to work. A proper smooch, lips moist and a hint of passion. Love, even. As time passed, this changed to a dry kiss on the cheek. Now, this too had changed. Now, it was a shouted goodbye , or sometimes nothing at all, just the slam of a door that needed fixing. Did all marriages get to this point eventually ? Honeymoon love m orph ing in to the sort of care felt for a sibling , then a gradual, inexorable fading away, leaving a mild tolerance that bordered on the fringes of outright dislike. Maybe we were t oo scared, too set in our ways, to change things , so we accepted the way of things, we accepted a life we would have dreaded when we were young and idealistic. If familiarity breeds contempt, were all marriages destined for that contempt?
    A saucer dropped to the floor. An unforgiving floor - n atural stone flooring, top quality , Graham had insisted on it, despite it costing twice as much as the tiles I had chosen - so the saucer smashed. I sat down and glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was far too early for a glass of wine but still...
    The man that I killed had been cycling. His bike had lights but they were small , ineffective, pinpricks in the curtain of the night. The lane was narrow, unlit, there were no street lights in the island’s smaller lanes . The man had all that silly cycling clothing on, but it must have been designed for the daytime as the clothes were black . Or perhaps a very dark grey , but there only a very faint white trim. I didn’t see all of that at first. I just felt a slight bump as my bumper clipped his back wheel. I braked hard and quick, but only after my bumper had clipped him. It didn’t take too long to stop, I hadn’t been travelling that fast. I didn’t like to speed, I thought of myself as a very careful driver, and besides, I was wary of being breathalysed . N ot that I’d had that much to drink , but you never knew...
    The bike had wobbled violently in front of me, then kissed the verge. It tumbled forward and I saw the man tumble forward with it , a blur, like a smudge on a photo. He