The hamlet of Fallowacres,
which was as near as damn it, the center point of the Finchbottom Vale, though
only geographically, in most ways it was the back end of beyond, but those who lived there liked it well enough, even
Linda Kirk loved it, despite the fact she’d had an argument with her husband
and was sleeping in the spare room.
As she slept, her head
was full of disturbing dreams of loss and loneliness interspersed with stark
warnings from her dead grandmother “Never go to sleep on an argument” until she
woke up in a panic, sweating profusely and panting hard.
She got up and paced
the room for five minutes before tiptoeing across the landing and slipped
beneath the duvet and cuddled up closely to Chris and drifted off into a
peaceful sleep.
But as the dawn broke,
her peace was disturbed, but this time, as she slept, her head was full of
erotic images and her sleep became restless and fitful, and her skin tingled,
and she kept licking her lips as the vivid images played in her head.
Her head rolled from
side to side and then she suddenly awoke from that erotic dreamland, with a
leer on her face.
So as the dawn chorus
chattered in the trees Linda and Chris made up and following her disturbed night,
they both slept late.
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