The writing on THE WALL
Thea, I’m ba-ack!’
Thea heard the front door close and footsteps in the hall. With the carpets taken up, the whole house was echoey.
‘So, scraper or soaker?’ James asked. She turned from watching the dogs charging around the garden to see him holding a DIY bag with the four rolls of gorgeous rocking-horse wallpaper they’d ordered online poking from the top.
‘Scraper this time, please. I’ll go and get the bowl.’
‘I’ll take the radio up, too, so we can dance while we work.’
She unplugged it from the wall. ‘You can dance, James. I’ll sort of sway gently.’
‘Probably safest,’ he chuckled, bending to kiss her bump and, taking the radio, he bounded up the stairs, leaving Thea to pour the still-warm dregs from the kettle into the bowl.
‘It’s a shame we didn’t think to do this while your mum was in hospital,’ James said as she entered the bedroom a few minutes later. ‘Freshen the place up a bit, I mean.’
‘It’s a nice thought,’ she said, watching
