Cherry Coloured - Alex Turner

35. Silver Weekend

  When she was sleeping, the world was silent. The roads adsorbed the crunching tyres of passing cars and the leaves masked the melodic chirps of the flocks of birds nestling amongst the branches. Even rain fell silently, dissolving into the surfaces it hit. He could watch her for the length of his lifetime and all that would ache when it was time to rest his bones, was his heart knowing he couldn't watch over her any longer.

  "Morning, love," he whispered, leaning down and kissing her cheek as she lay still beneath the grey sheets. Gently, he rubbed his hand over her hip and craned his head to see her face. "You gonna get up?"

  Maeve's eyebrows creased the centre of her forehead and she nuzzled deeper into her pillow. A quiet hum made its way out of her chest, refusing his offer.

  "I'm making coffee now, do you want one?" Alex asked.

  "In a minute," she mumbled and pulled the covers up over her exposed shoulders.

  "C'mon baby, time to get up," Alex said, gently squeezing her hip through the covers. "You'll be mad at yerself if you sleep in."

  "Ten minutes," she mumbled, still refusing to open her eyes.

  "Okay," Alex nodded, "but you know you're gonna whine when you wake up right before I'm leaving," he teased.

  "I don't whine," Maeve scoffed and turned over. Smiling to himself, Alex stood up off the bed and began getting himself ready for work.

Sitting alone at his dining table no longer felt like an act of isolation. Instead, it practiced his patience. Alex sat with his coffee and his toast and flicked through a short story he had been editing the night prior. Streaming across the tiny black letters were red lines and haphazardly written comments that wrapped around the blocks of text like roads running through a quiet neighbourhood. The house could be dead silent and the knowledge that sleeping in the other room was Maeve kept it warm and homey.

She existed all about his house. Spending many nights there, little ornaments and touches of her had sprung up amongst his own clutter. Her black trench coat hung over the back of one of the dining chairs in place to pick up and drop off before and after work. A plant she'd bought him sat beside the back door with its large leaves curled from the cold, beside it were a pair of her boots. Maeve had also bought them matching mugs from a charity shop that had ugly cartoons on them and coloured handles, and the records she bought him sat front and centre on his record shelf, each marked with a red heart on its plastic protective sleeve.

Alex checked his watch and stood from his seat, folding over the corner of the page he'd made it to and flipped it back to its front page. Knowing she'd grill him about it if he left them in the sink, Alex quickly washed up his plate and his mug, drying his hands on his pants and stopping by the bathroom to freshen up before peeking into the bedroom one last time.

Maeve stirred when he slipped passed the door and fetched a dark jacket from his wardrobe. "What time is it?" she mumbled, sitting herself up on her elbows, stomach pressed into the mattress.

"Eight thirty, I'm just about to head off," Alex said, tossing the jacket on over his shoulders. Outside, rain began to pour at a steady drumming beat, rattling the windows and roof tiles.

"No don't go," Maeve whined, rubbing her eyes.

"I told you you were gonna be upset," Alex said, fastening on the watch he'd picked up from the markets they'd gone to together.

"Stay," Maeve pouted, "be late. I haven't even said good morning."

"I tried to wake you," Alex said, walking around to her side of the bed.