“What’s up?” Nikki stopped putting dishes away. Her fathers’ face was unreadable, saddened and careworn. She wanted to hug him, but watched as he took off his coat and hung up Sally’s lead.
“Nothing Nikki, nothing, it’s just a bit cold out there, you know, last throws of winter and all that.”
Nikki wasn’t sure she believed her father, but she couldn’t put her finger on what seemed to be bothering him.
They sat together with their feet up on the coffee table, blue socks and black socks side by side, each knowing Sarah wouldn’t have approved. When Nikki moved her feet off the glass top, Ron did too. They sat together in companionable silence, catching up on Saturday’s papers. Neither of them switched on a lamp. The TV was on mute. The silent screen flashed colour and shadows around the room, their own private version of the Northern Lights.
“I suppose we ought to put a light on, it’s too dark to read now.” Ron stood up and made an attempt at pulling a curtain across. Nikki watched him make a mess of it and rather than remind him of Mum, who always said, - men don’t do material - she waited until he’d gone into the kitchen before straightening them.
.