but he’d found himself asking for her a lot lately when he entered rooms in the house.
He didn’t want to startle her, just in case she’d fallen asleep somewhere she hadn’t planned to.
But she wasn’t in the kitchen. Which meant she was probably still up in her bed.
Which meant Conor would have to make his own breakfast, something he’d grown used to doing.
Fine. Good, in fact, especially this morning. He walked quickly to the bin
and stuffed the plastic bag he was carrying down near the bottom, covering it up with other rubbish so it wouldn’t be obvious.
“There,” he said to no one, and stood breathing for a second.
Then he nodded to himself and said, “Breakfast.” Some bread in the toaster, some cereal in a bowl, some juice in a glass,
and he was ready to go, sitting down at the little table in the kitchen to eat.
His mum had her own bread and cereal which she bought at a health food shop in town
and which Conor thankfully didn’t have to share. It tasted as unhappy as it looked.
He looked up at the clock. Twenty-five minutes before he had to leave.
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