Tea Cosy

I drank too much tea. It steadied me, filled me, made me warm. I wanted more of their abundance, the detail of their sweet loveliness. Have you a cosy? I asked, knowing, almost completely knowing that they would. Of course, she said. It was a patchwork one. I placed it with something like pleasure over the china pot. The café was getting busy, alive with the voices of women more than a little excited. He had a toasted tea cake. I buttered it for him, just to catch the smell of cinnamon and sultanas.

When we got home my clothes smelt of baking.