Comfy

‘Y’know Bill, I reckon fish’n’chips is what makes life worth living,’ said Wilma as she unravelled the large paper package in front of her.

She then took her jacket off, and the two of them sat at the big wooden table Bill made the first year they got married, some forty years earlier.

Bill took his fish’n’chips from the newspaper wrapper, and placed them on his plate. ‘Aye, I reckon you’re right love,’ he said as he shook some salt then vinegar over his Friday night tea. ‘Aint much beats Harry’s fish’n’chips.’

They followed a ritual almost religiously for the last twnty years. Every Friday since William Jnr had left home, they'd come home from work, and Wilma would fetch the fish’n’chips for tea around six o'clock.

When they were done, Wilma spoke first, ‘I’ll tidy up love, you make us a cuppa!’

She then proceeded to place the plates in the sink. She had hot water running into it, and bubbles spilled over the side like an avalanche as she wiped the table with a wet cloth.

Bill made two cups of tea after the kettle boiled, Wilma put the plates in the pantry, the cutlery in the drawer, and they then retreated to the lounge; just in time for the news. The gas fire was up high, and the room was comfortable. Bill was asleep before the news finished, and Wilma wasn’t far behind him.

#

William their son, who had moved to Australia grew concerned when he didn’t get an answer when he made his usual phone call at ten the next morning. Father is always up at this time, he thought.

Carbon monoxide the doctor told him over the phone two days later;