Dating : What Spring Brings for Summer

The sun had put its hat on again this morning, rays inching over the horizon. Just beginning to leek through Summers window, the beams of light ignored the cream curtains efforts to bar their entry and instead illuminated the bedroom completely by bouncing off the mirrors coating the sliding doors of the wardrobe opposite the bed.

Summer was staring at the ceiling. She was quite cold, one hand holding a forefinger under her nose to stifle a sneeze.

Keeping a loose count of the seconds since she’d last looked at her phone she estimated she’d been awake around forty minutes.

Feeling the sneeze retreat for now she tentatively took her hand from her face and slowly and silently reached to retrieve her phone from under the pillow. 04:46.

Not quite forty minutes yet, but not far off.

The now retreated sneeze had left a skirmish of snot behind to harry her nostrils, sniffing slightly had resulted in stirring Adam, sound asleep to her left. Sighing deeply and turning over Adam remained in his enviable state of REM and draped his arm over her torso unconsciously.

Stifling a disproportionate level of rage she gingerly took Adam’s arm and removed it to his side.

Then, cat like and practised, she silently unburdened herself of the quilt and removed her left hand from inside her vest. Rising, she unplugged her phone and grabbed the tissues that littered the bedside table, she was up.

The snot sensed her vulnerability and leapt into a running race out of her nostrils.

Quickly Summer plucked a pair of pj bottoms from the floor and deftly padded down the stairs, avoiding the long discovered creaking spots.

Passing the kids rooms on her dash across the landing she saw they were still fast asleep. A relief. The eldest, Cam, often kept similar hours to her which wore him out completely.

Reaching the kitchen, she abandoned her burdens on the side and snatched a square of kitchen roll from its reel. As quietly as she could, she blew. Instant relief!

As she discarded the first wave in the bin, she awaited the second in suspended comfort.

The clock on the wall read 04:52.

The pinkish sky ebbing over the inky trees at the back of the garden gave an illusory sense of zen.

Summer opened the window above the sink to feel the cold, sweet air of the dawn on her face.

Feeling she’d pay the price for that she took her phone and nestled into her chair in the lounge, grabbing a blanket from in the poof and some headphones from her handbag.

She considered exercise, or getting a head start on the morning rush, but she had the energy for neither and so red nosed and weary, she curled up with headphones in ears to watch an hour of Fleabag on iPlayer until the world woke up.

Cameron was down before six.

Recognising this heralded the start of the day proper, Summer got up to give him a hug and sort his breakfast.

He’d already put Netflix on and got his table out of the nest when she returned to the lounge with his cereal.

The table, which was wedged on top of a blanket covering Cam’s legs tilted dangerously when Summer put the bowl down, but it looked steady enough.

Ruffling his hair on the way past, Summer sidled up the stairs, already knackered, to go for a shower.

Sniffling up the stairs she glanced at her phone; 06:15.

The bathroom mirror pulled no punches, showing the bags and the involuntary beehive. Somehow morphing into Amy Winehouse overnight Summer sighed and pulled the shower chord. It was going to be a long day.

Feeling dazed as the day accelerated around her at work, Summer went through the same ritual four times; coffee, tablets, nasal spray, moisturiser (for her nostrils).

Morning made way for afternoon, the school run a distant memory and even her lunch (egg salad) seeming like a decade ago, at 16:30 she got in the car and started home.

She normally ate lunch in her car at work and had quite forgotten what she’d had until the smell of egg from the empty tupperware box on the passenger seat penetrated even her congested nasal.

Taking a final hit of spray and squirting some Cinema around the car, she plugged her phone into the AUX and lost herself in Audible on the way home.

Rush hour was bad, putting Summer on a short fuse.

This resulted in only twenty peaceful minutes of playing with the kids when she got home before she snapped.

The cacophony of Cam’s Netflix, Adam’s Spotify, Claudia’s CBeebies, and squabbling led to her loudly bollocking the whole house and retreating upstairs. A menacing sneeze taking the impetus from her words.

As she traipsed up the stairs she frowned, annoyed at herself for taking her tiredness out on her family.

Something else to feel guilty about. Promising she’d be more patient later, Summer reached the banister.

It was quarter to six.

The mocking smell of mowed lawns floated through the cul-de-sac, taunting her pitilessly.

Through swollen eyes and the landing window she saw with an irrational sense of jealousy that the old couple next door were preening their garden with reckless abandon.

The woman, maybe in her late sixties was decanting yet another load of grass into the khaki bin, whilst the man, several years her senior, often to be spotted in brave socks and sandals was on his hands and knees, trimming the verge with a pair of kitchen scissors.

She sniffed and attacked her eyes with the palm of her hand for the hundredth time.

“Eurgh,” she breathed from a sandpaper throat as she stepped into her second shower of the day, “bastards.”