Second Honeymoon [antikvár]

Chapter One Edie put her hand out, took a breath and slowly, slowly pushed open his bedroom door. The room inside looked as if he had never left it. The bed was unmade, the curtains half drawn, the carpet almost invisible under trails of clothing. There were single trainers on shelves, mugs and cereal bowls on the floor, scatterings of papers and books everywhere. On the walls the same posters hung haphazardly from nuggets of blue gum: a Shakespeare play from a long-ago school outing, Kate Moss in a mackintosh, the Stereophonics from a concert at Earls Court. It looked, at first glancé, as it had looked for a large part of his twenty-two years. It looked as if he was coming back, any minute. Edie stepped through the chaos on the floor - ah, that's where her only bone-china mug had got to - and pulled the curtains fully apart. One side, obviously accustomed to doing this, rushed headlong to the left and síid triumphantly off the pole to the floor. Edie looked up. The finial that stopped the end was missing. It had probably been missing for months, years, and Ben's solution had been simply, pragmatically really,