Francois finds me on the deck. There is a lovely line of evergreen trees in the view, but today they seem gaunt, dark and rigid. the forest is nearby. Sheeba the cat is sprawled across my lap, purring.
"Good morning", he says with a broad smile.
"Good morning. I trust you slept well."
"Splendidly. Coffee is made", say I, lifting my steaming mug to my lips. This was my favourite mug while I still live here, and it's still with us. It is black with a big yellow daffodil on it. And it is huge. As I absentmindedly stroke the cat, Francois returns and takes the chair next to mine. I am still feeling invaded.
"Did Kenny come to visit you in the night?"
"Not that I'm aware of", he says laughing.
"Not even in your dreams?"
"I can't remember my dreams, nor that I had any, I slept so well."
"Which means that Kenny probably has welcomed you." I don't know why I am speaking to him with this irritably humorous sarcasm, but I know I am not comfortable because otherwise I do not speak this way.
"Is Carl up?"
"He's taking a shower..."
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