Friday May 14th

Day 25

Some moments from today before midnight comes.

I cancel my yoga class to make space for cleaning and practise vigorous warrior poses with the floor mop.

I stand on the bottom stair to give my husband a hug. Sometimes he needs me to be taller than him to contain big sadness.

I gulp my leek and potato soup at lunchtime - monosyllabic, tense and rushed.

At the supermarket I buy yellow tulips and Gruyere cheese and unripe, out of season mangos for my father.

At the clinic he sits in a raised chair like a king and a trainee nurse in a red uniform pricks his finger. He warns her his blood is resistant and even when she squeezes not a drop appears. It takes two of them in the end.

When the doorbell rings, as the light is leaving the sky, my sweet niece and her man stand on the doorstep full of smiles and long journey stiffness and a London life left behind.

I spread waves of Dijon mustard over the rolled out oblong of pastry and sprinkle it with thick shavings of Gruyere. Together we lay the bright green blanched asparagus spears in lines down the middle. My husband picked them this afternoon,all different lengths and thickness - all hard and tender in one stem.

While the tart puffs up in the oven, we drink Gin and Tonic and talk the talk of a new government till the aroma of bubbling parmesan seduces us to the table.