The boiler groans to life and takes me with it — up, out of sleep and into the morning — as he turns on the shower. A flush, then footsteps. The click and rush of the kettle for his tea – Irish breakfast; the tap runs to rinse yesterday’s from his favourite mug. I wait for rustling in the corridor, where he puts on the day with his coat. The pocket he shakes to check, yes, for his keys. Then the one two thump click of doorframe lock wall metal on metal as it shuts and bolts behind him and I am alone.
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