His Room
She stepped into the dim bedroom, walked over to the wooden bay window, opened wide the chequered curtains, and let in the morning light. Then she pushed out the handle to allow the air to circulate. Dawn fell on the tidied bed, the pine desk close by, the cabinet adorned with graffiti, and the closet door that remained shut. Her apron donned, she set about clearing the room. From the single-bed she pulled off the quilt and sheets. Her hands peeled the pale covers off the pillows and freed the duvet from its polyester cocoon. She set her mind on the cool weather outside as she worked. On the coming weeks that promised blue skies and blooming cowslips. Not on the fact that she’d made this same bed six months ago and nobody had slept in it since. His breakfast finished, she heard her husband ascend the stairs. She was folding the sheets when he entered, his shoulders slumped and eyes averted. ‘Well, where should I start?’ he said. ‘Hmm, I’ll empty the cabinet. You could see through the