Habits

Habits are not easily put aside, you have to understand that. Regularly, every Wednesday morning they, man and wife, walk into town leaving the jar of Nescafe granules, two cafetières, and the new fan-dangled expresso machine, redundant.

Costa, always Costa. The baristas know the routine, two cappuccinos, two chocolate muffins, and the complaint that ‘It’s not hot enough.’ A paper shake of Demerara sugar makes the experience complete.

A visit to London requires the same coffee franchise sought as soon as they step off the train; the order that the man knows off by heart. So his deviation is a surprise – should they share a cake? Half each. A sensible idea for lunch, prior to the theatre matinée, is booked for an hour hence.

The knife, essential for careful division, was the mistake. Plastic forks were available, would have wrought less damage. The report in the first-aid log made much of the blood loss, less of the lady’s accusations. There was no need, however, for an ambulance despite his protestations. 

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