“Harry, where are you? Harry?” He came out of the garage, a coiled hose in one hand, the adaptor in the other. Molly was in the driveway; next to her a man in a dark suit and tie stood to attention by the side of a black Peugeot.

“Harry, what are you doing? The taxi’s here. We need to go.”

“I wanted to water the roses.”

“You don’t have time.”

Tutting for the second time that morning, Harry wandered back into the garage and placed the hose and fitting where he’d found them. When he emerged the taxi driver was loading their suitcases in the trunk. He clicked the garage doors closed and trudged off towards the house.

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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)