At the breakfast table

I decided – after my lavatorial fiasco – not to enquire about prunes, and sat at the breakfast table quietly eating my cornflakes – or as quietly as it is possible to eat cornflakes.
My brother, however, was not prepared to let matters rest.
‘Didn’t you notice there was no toilet roll? I mean before you… went?’
‘No.’ I replied, somewhat tersely ‘I suppose I assumed, since this was a lavatory, there would be toilet paper available.’
Hector snorted. ‘You’re in a world of your own – that’s your trouble.’
‘Oh, thank you – I’ve always wanted to know what my trouble was.’
‘No wonder father used to call you ‘dopey’’
‘Hector!’ Myra’s voice was low, but threatening.
‘It’s true. “He’s a dope”, that’s what father used to say.’
But Myra was on her feet now – all five feet two of her – and I saw my brother flinch. But she said, pleasantly enough ‘Hector, why don’t you pop down to Mr Convenience and get some bacon, and I’ll do bacon and eggs. And while you’re there, best get some eggs.’
With a malevolent glance at me, my brother rose from the table. As he was leaving the room, Myra called ‘Oh, and ask if they’ve got my magazine.’
Hector turned ‘Oh no, I’m not going to ask for that magazine.’ Assertive indeed, but his expression told me that he would ask for the magazine – whatever it was.

After he had left, Myra sat down again. ‘Don’t you worry, pet, I’ll bung another couple of buckets down there, and it should be clear by the time the plumber comes on Monday.’
I was at a loss to reply, so instead steered the conversation towards Carole, who had not yet put in an appearance.
‘I suppose my lady travelling companion is still festering in bed.’
‘Actually she’s gone out jogging’ replied Myra, as she spread ‘thick-cut’ marmalade on her toast. (Toast and marmalade – and then she’s going to eat bacon and eggs?)
‘Oh,’ I said, somewhat chastened ‘I’ve never known her do that before.’
‘Known her long, have you?’ Myra got up to let that mangy Perkins in. She was wearing a housecoat – I think that’s what you call it, I am not over familiar with women’s things - quilted, salmon pink, and too long for her. It dragged along the floor and had a hem of dirt and grease, about an inch and a half wide. (Later, I was to discover that she often tuned the bike in that housecoat)
Still, there was something about Myra… But don’t get me wrong: I am well aware of the Commandment “Thou shalt not covet thy brother’s wife.” Wait a minute – should that be neighbour’s wife? Well, whatever – some wives are easier not to covet that others

I must have been daydreaming because Myra repeated her question.
‘Oh, a couple of years I suppose – off and on. More off than on.’
‘I like her,’ said Myra.
Well why don’t you let her sleep with you, and then I can have her room! I did not actually say this but perhaps Myra read my thoughts…
‘Suppose I ask her if she wouldn’t mind sharing my room? Not my bed, you understand. We have twin beds (Hector and I were never very close – even before the Swede.)’
‘Well, if you really think… I mean I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.’ I tried to conceal my elation.
'Anyway,’ she replied ‘I think you’re disturbing the fish – they’re off their food this morning. Fish are very sensitive you know.’

You see, there it is again: It’s not me she cares about but those cold-blooded, goggle-eyed aquariumites. And the sad thing is: I was beginning to fancy her!