26.

Just went downstairs to empty the bowl, throw it all away, make another cup of tea, and there was Charlie at the kitchen sink. Standing on a small table, wearing his pyjamas, sleeves pushed up to the elbows, gumboots on his feet, washing up in soapy water. Something warm and delicious about the kitchen, something glowing dimly from inside the oven. I said, “Have you been baking?”
And Charlie’s lovely babysitter said, “Yes, we made scones; they’re almost ready.”
In the bowl on my desk now: a warm and golden scone with raspberry jam, some chocolate, and a mandarin. Beside it, a cup of peppermint tea.
The hours are beautiful.