Susanna Crossman – The Pull of the Moon

In the morning, Madeleine awakes from a dream that smells of boiled eggs. She lies under the covers, tired for a moment and then remembers that today is Friday. Today is Friday. She smiles, feels a pain in her lower back and slowly eases her sturdy legs from under linen sheets and woollen blankets. Her gnarled toes touch the cold white tiled floor. ‘You should get a duvet,’ her daughter Florence has told her a hundred times before ringing off, ‘Au revoir maman, bisous.’