Good
Manners
Kyra
Giorgi
His
lap
slanted
towards
the
ground
and
as
a
consequence
the
cat
had
begun
slipping
from
it.
He
thought,
either
my
legs
are
too
short
or
this
chair
is
too
high.
He
might
have
put
his
feet
on
its
tiptoes
to
adjust
the
balance,
but
decided
against
it,
because
things
were
already
in
motion.
The
cat
strained
briefly
to
hold
on
before
relinquishing
its
grasp
and
slipping
silently
to
the
floor.
He
got
up
and
questioned
why
he
would
have
bought
such
a
tall
chair,
because
he
had
decided
by
now
that
his
legs
weren’t
short,
they
never
had
been,
and
the
idea
that
a
reversal
could
take
place
he
found
both
disturbing
and
incredible.
Then
perhaps
the
chair
had
been
given
to
him
and
he
hadn’t
bought
it
at
all.
That
might
explain
it.
His
wife
believed
in
shrinkage
of
the
aged
but
she
had
stopped
wearing
high
heels
a
long
time
ago
and
this
was
bound
to
change
one’s
perspective.
Cold
and
windy
with
scattered
showers
were
the
only
words
available
to
describe
a
day
like
this.
While
he
was
waiting
for
the
water
to
boil
he
looked
out
the
window.
They
were
right
about
the
wind
at
least,
it
was
shivering
the
windowpane
a
bit,
but
not
that
strong
because
he
couldn’t
see
it,
just
audibly
with
a
soft
thumping
away.
There
was
also
a
whistling
which
sounded
like
the
kettle
but
wasn’t.
Another
word
that
might
have
been
used
about
the
day
was
grey.
He
stirred
his
cup
of
instant
coffee
but
it
was
a
disappointing
experience
because
what
he’d
really
wanted
was
a
cup
of
tea,
not
to
drink
so
much
as
to
be
able
to
jiggle
the
teabag.
In
compensation
he
stirred
his
coffee
a
bit
longer
than
was
necessary
and
looked
out
the
window
again,
across
the
city
which
would
be
showered
on
at
any
moment,
and
he
was
glad
that
he
wasn’t
going
out
today.
He
was
just
standing
there
with
his
cup
of
tea
wondering
what
to
do
next,
obviously
he
should
drink
the
coffee
but
this
would
have
to
be
combined
with
sitting
down
or
continuing
to
stand,
and
then
where?
This
was
the
predicament
until
he
remembered
that
there
was
an
opened
packet
of
biscuits
in
the
cupboard,
and
went
to
get
them.
Just
then
the
doorbell
rang
and
even
though
he’d
been
expecting
them,
he
said
Bother!
out
loud,
because
now
he
had
his
heart
set
on
a
biccie
or
two.
The
woman
from
the
social
services
called
him
by
his
real
name
at
first,
just
to
confirm,
and
thereafter
addressed
him
as
love.
The
others
said
nothing
really.
He
showed
them
to
the
bedroom
where
his
wife
still
lay
and
tried
not
to
look
at
her
body
as
he
asked
them
would
they
like
a
cup
of
tea.
The
kettle
had
just
boiled
he
said
but
didn’t
mention
the
biscuits
because
there
weren’t
really
enough
to
go
round.
E
J
Brady
|
