David made his final preparations in the bedroom. He fluffed the feather pillows and turned back the blue and white striped bed cover on Clarice’s side of the bed. His final romantic touch was to switch on the lamp in the corner of the room. He watched it wash a soft glow over the pale blue walls.
Clarice was pottering below in the kitchen as he inhaled the heady fragrance from the blue hyacinths in the vase on the small table underneath the bedroom window.
By the time he returned from downstairs, where he’d gone to lock the door, Clarice was already in bed. Only her blue eyes were visible above the edge of the navy bed cover.
He drew the curtains before he undressed, slowly and deliberately. He’d always been proud of his body. First, he stripped off his shirt and exposed his lean torso. Next, came his trousers and underpants, leaving his muscular legs to be admired. When he glanced across at the bed, to make sure Clarice was still watching him, he noted a half smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. He knew she’d always admired his firm arse. With measured deliberation he turned his back towards her, but much to his dismay, she frowned.
He had forgotten that last week they had celebrated her eightieth birthday and that she never wore her glasses in bed.
He looked at her hopefully as she screwed up her eyes.
Yet, try as she might, Clarice could see no more than a furry blur.