Tea Leaves

Elsie set the teacup down on the kitchen worktop and called for her husband. Their coral anniversary was coming up and after what she'd just seen, Elsie Harrison wasn't entirely sure they were going to make it.

'Ethan, where are you?' She called upstairs. Before coming out of the kitchen, Elsie had taken a moment to get her frail and trembling body under control, yet now, waiting for Ethan's response, fresh dread spilled over her at the possibility that Ethan was gone already. That it had happened already and she was too late. Too late to do anything about it. 'Ethan-- '

'Coming dear! I'm ready now-- just had to make a quick pitstop in the little boy's room. At my age when you have to go, there's no use waiting. You'll understand what I mean one day, honey.' Ethan planted a firm kiss on his wife's cheek when he reached the bottom of the staircase. 'Where are the keys and we can be off...'

'Oh Ethan, we can't go to the market this morning.'

'Why's that? Of course we can. That orange juice might've cut right through me but I'm good to go now. Come on, let's get a wriggle on and we can still be there before it gets overly busy.' He checked his pockets for the car keys. 'Besides, when was the last time we went, anyway? We'll get the vegetables and see how Barney and Trevor and the rest of them have been keeping.'

Ethan was many things but this chirpy and keen to go to the market was not one of them. Maybe I'm too late, Elsie thought as her husband disappeared into the kitchen. He looked like a blue smudge of denim through her hazel eyes that had started to well up with tears. I can't be too late. Can't be.

Elsie heard Ethan whistling - whistling! - in the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of drawers sliding out and then back in as he, presumably, looked for his keys.

These days, going to the Saturday market was becoming more and more of a chore for Ethan. They used to go faithfully every weekend (unless the weather was especially bad, in that case, they went to the supermarket which invariably ended with Ethan faffing about at the self-service tills) however, when he'd hit the big six-oh, they scaled their market attendance back to every other week. Now they maybe went once a month, sometimes less.

If Elsie was honest with herself, the list of things that were a hassle for her husband of going on thirty-five years was ever-growing. Mowing the lawn and taking the bin out were only two of the things that had been subtly delegated to her. In fact, just last week she had repainted the downstairs bathroom ceiling. With that success story under her belt, it would be no time until she was doing the whole house from top to bottom.

Still in the hall, tearing up and unsure of how to proceed, Elsie inhaled deeply, unzipped her raincoat and took off into the kitchen after Ethan.

'Have you had anything for breakfast?' She asked.

'Nah, just a quick glass of orange juice and let me tell you, I won't be doing that on an empty stomach again any time soon! I thought we could go to the market first and then eat when we get back. Or better yet, we could go to Chimes Cafe for a fry. I could eat a fry, couldn't you?'

Elsie remembered how her father, the well-liked by everyone Henry Robertson, had become revitalised during his final afternoon before passing away quietly that night. He'd been able to sit up in his death bed and Elsie had even fed him a yoghurt before he went back to sleep.

The immediate family had all been there, awaiting nothing more than Henry to die. But, for that final afternoon with his children and grandchildren huddled around his bedside, it looked like the medicine had at long last started working, and they would be able to keep him for years.