The Field Of Blood*

“It’s a suffocating performance from Andy Murray,” the commentator says.  I’m watching the Davis Cup with the parentals.  Andy is pulverising the American Donald Young: he’s just taken the first two sets in thirty minutes or so.  Andy’s looking fit, tough and untroubled by his back or his opponent.  Which is good.  It’s a riotous atmosphere in Glasgow: air horns sounding, cheering, clapping.  Somehow Dad is sleeping through it and Mum is multitasking: one eye on the tennis and the other on The Times crossword. 

Am Exhausted from two long bike rides – 70 minutes yesterday and 60 minutes today; two scans; one gym session; a play date with Emily, Lily and their little boys and a curry with the parentals last night.

    “Have some good news,” I text Seb last night.

    “Do you want me to call?” He replies.

    “Try the parentals,” I say.

     The phone rings.   “Hello,” I say.

    “Hello,” Seb says.

    “So, um, first: are you coming on Sunday?” I say, suddenly afraid that he’ll cancel.

    “Yes, and I always say this but I’ll really try to make it up there early,” he says.

    “Great,” I say.  

    “So, what’s the good news?” He says.

    “Well, I can come and see you in Brighton,” I say.  “A couple of my cousins are coming with.”  He knows these ones and has got on very well with them on a couple of occasions.

    “Wonderful,” he says.  “Brighton will be so lovely in the Spring.”

    So: have something to look forward to.  It’s Spring today here: on our ride up to the mill today there were lots of crocuses out.  And ducks:



Happy Friday everyone!

Argh in the time it’s taken to write this, Young has taken the third set.  Come on Andy! 

*crime novel set in Glasgow by Denise Mina

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