He sits in the faded armchair by the window, waiting for her. To pass the time he watches the cars zoom by, fancy things driven by electrics now. Woludn’t know the names if he tried. Couldn’t!

He tries to find something more familiar, and settles on the hedge. He knows the names of the little purple flowers that are growing there, the ones that the honey bees are fussing over… lavender! Yes, lavender. He knows the smell too. It smells like her, and the soap she used. Didn’t she used to have lavender flowers in the windowsill? Maybe, that part is a little hazy. Sometimes he wonders if it’s a dream or a memory.

His thoughts are interrupted by a presence. Female, but not the her he is waiting for, just… tea. Yes she is standing over him baring her teeth at him, he knows that she wants him to have a cup of tea again. He sighs. No point refusing. She will just leave it there and he will forget about it and it will go cold or worse still he will put it on the floor and when she does come she will step in it. That happened before. He thinks.

He holds up his hands to receive the cup, willing them not to tremble this time. ‘Is..?’ He begins to say and then stops. He wonders about asking where she is. He feels the warm hand on his shoulder. ‘Is..?’ He tries again. He looks up into her eyes. He sees tiredness. He sees sympathy. He screws up his eyes and tries not to cry. He’s sure that happened before. How can he know words for emotions? Flowers? Bees? But not…her?