He stared across the desolate fenland, a barren expanse stretching from the mortuary to the distant shrouded hills. Like Magwitch, Henry’s lip sneered at his sodden feet, he should’ve thieved the sedulous attendant’s overshoes as well as his mackintosh, egalitarian, he was not. The cottage emerged from behind the damp, coiling mists, an oasis in his fraught mind, and he wiped his forehead with a crimson bandana discovered in the stolen coat’s pocket. Rain teemed endlessly and he sought protection from the unsavoury elements.
His foot kicked the cloche as he raced across the garden and cursed as glass shattered across the path, so much for a quiet entrance. He burst through the unlocked door.
She stood wide-eyed and open mouthed at the dripping man before her.
“Had a really bad day at work sweetie!” he began suddenly loquacious after the silence of the moor, “Car broke down…then it rained…”