As the clock chimed 10 o’clock she pushed herself up from her chair to dampen down the fire with slag. The half empty metal bucket was heavy and pulled mercilessly on tired muscles. Leaning it against the iron fender she clung to the mantlepiece for support. The fine coals slid reluctantly, only a few making slow progress onto the remnants of the fire. Cursing she moved her hand in short vigorous movements to shake the bucket with little effect. With the last of the embers finsally buried beneath a thin layer of black slag, she dropped the bucket clumsily back on the hearth. Then, as a thin whisp of grey, blue smoke curled up the chimney she turned to make her way up to the bed she still shared with Charlie. He would be back, she knew he would, but the pounding in her head and the chill that had fallen suddenly told her she had waited long enough. Pushing the door to the children’s bedroom open she peered through the gloom by the flickering light of a candle and smiled at the shapes curled up beneath the patchwork quilt. Listened for a while until she was satisfied that they were sleeping, she pulled the door closed.
Emma Hardwick
