8
Blanche had never seen William looking all dishevelled and ordinary. His cheek was damp and there was dirt on his chin.
“I’ve brought lunch,” she said again to cover the moment. “Can I come in?”
He opened the door wider and his cheeks flushed. “Things are a bit of a mess.”
“I understand.” She stepped into the hallway. Goodness, this was awkward. There was dust on the top of the sideboard, a pile of newspapers near his armchair, and the room had the mustiness of being shut up too often. William had never been competent in the home. Not that he’d ever needed to be.
She went to the kitchen and placed her basket on the counter. He followed her. She busied herself unstacking the basket to mask the ongoing silence stretching between them. Theirs had never been a relationship full of conve
