Sitting on the crapper on Sunday morning after his breakfast of muesli, toast and hot black coffee Danny suddenly realised he has never discussed with himself exactly how much he loves his wife. He knows he loves her very much. In fact, he is able to suggest that he loves her very much indeed. Just how much though. That’s the question. Every Wednesday is meatloaf day. It has been over the thirty years they have been married. The problem. He hates her meatloaf. She puts pickle in it. But he never complains. Eats it all. Then one Tuesday about three years ago he had said “is it possible we can have something different on a Wednesday? I feel like a change.” On Wednesday there was no meatloaf. On Thursday and every Thursday after that he had meatloaf. She wanted him to have meatloaf because she thought it was his favourite. He ate it all. And still does. That is how much he loves his wife.
Danny set about his Sunday routine. He cleaned the house then prepared lunch. He always prepared lunch. In fact, he did everything on a Sunday. Always had. She did so much during the week and needed the break. He had started going to church for the mid-morning service. While lunch is cooking. She always went to church so she would really appreciate his involvement. Back home after lunch he prepared for tea at five. Their daughters were coming. The first Sunday of every month and the daughters came for tea. He made a Victoria Sponge Cake. That is her favourite. Laid the table in the conservatory. Her favourite place for tea. Fresh sweet peas as decoration from her garden. The sweet peas miraculously coming up each year. On the table is her favourite photograph of the girls at two years old. Just leaving being babies. Becoming proper people and dressed in their identical lemon summer dresses. Her favourite colour.
Five o’clock and the front door opens and the two girls come in. They both have on a lemon coloured blouse. Laura and Alice identical twins. He feels so lucky that he has not one but two girls who at twenty five look exactly like their mother when he first met her when she was twenty five all those years ago. She had been wearing a lemon coloured blouse.
“How are you Dad?”
“Bearing up. I have done all the usual work.”
“Have you been to church?”
“Yes, for the midday service.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Yes, and she is looking forward to seeing you today. I’ve made her cake and the sweet peas. Look.” He cut them a slice of cake.
“She has been gone two years now Dad. Is it time to move on yet?”
“Soon. It will be very soon now. I’ve stopped making the meatloaf so that’s a start.”