Blue Rondo a la Turk drifted in from the patio this balmy evening late spring.  Douglas sucked his teeth as he washed up.  Things just hadn't been the same of late.  Mum sulked in the living room, gazing dispassionately at Emmerdale; Dad stayed out back, humming whilst he fed the lawn.

They didn't seem to want to talk any more:  Dad spent all his time out of the house and Mum gave every last dreg of her attention to that bloody telly.  Such a shame; it really was.

Douglas finished up and patted his hands dry.  Reaching in the fridge for a cold beer, he felt his stomach lurch.  Mum hadn't made a very nice meal this evening.  Perhaps he should have buried her like Dad.