Fiction
The duvet had gone into the machine easily. Getting it out required Martin to put one foot against the casing and pull with both hands.
“Don’t break it,” his daughter said.
“Which bit?”
“Any of it.”
The duvet came free suddenly. He caught it against his chest, soaking his shirt.
Across the laundrette, a woman lowered her newspaper.
“There’s a trolley.”
“I’ve got it now.”
“Yes,” she said. “I can see.”
Nell brought the trolley. He dropped the duvet into it, where it sat like an exhausted animal. A corner trailed on the floor.
“You’re running it over,” she said.
“I haven’t moved.”
“You’re standing on it.”
He moved his foot.
The dryers occupied the back wall. Nell opened one and inspected the drum, although he doubted she knew what she was inspecting it for.
“Is that big enough?”
“It’s the biggest one.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
He lifted the duvet again. Between them they pushed it through the round door. Nell tucked the last corner in with two fingers.
“Low heat,” she said, reading the label.
“It’ll take forever.”
“It says low heat.”
He selected low heat.
The machine wanted eight pounds.
“For drying?”
The woman’s newspaper trembled.
He fed in the coins. The drum turned, lifting a thick white fold, then dropping it. It lifted the same fold again.
“Is it meant to do that?”
Nell had already sat down.
He took the chair beside her. For a while they watched the duvet fail to tumble.
“You could have used the sleeping bag,” he said.
“I know.”
“Till the weekend.”
“I know, Dad.”
He found a loose pound in his pocket. It had left a greenish circle on the lining. He rubbed it with his thumb.
Nell’s phone lit up. She looked at it, typed something, put it face down on her knee.
“Do you want a drink?”
“No.”
“There’s a shop.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“I might get one.”
“All right.”
He stayed where he was.
At the other end of the room, a washing machine began its final spin. The woman reached down without looking and steadied the shopping bag beside her foot.
Nell said, “It was the water bottle.”
“You told me.”
“The lid was on.”
“Okay.”
“It was. It just wasn’t on straight.”
“I said okay.”
She turned the phone over, though it hadn’t lit up.
Martin went to the shop.
He bought two cans of lemonade and a packet of biscuits, then stood at the till while the cashier found the price of the biscuits. Through the window he could see Nell. She was talking to the woman.
When he returned, both of them looked at the cans.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Nell said.
He put one beside her. She opened it.
The dryer stopped. Its window had misted at the edges.
Martin pulled the duvet out far enough to feel it. The middle was cold and wet.
“Oh, come on.”
“You have to turn it,” the woman said.
He looked at her.
“Inside to outside. Otherwise you’re drying the dry bit.”
“Right.”
Nell got up. They hauled it into the trolley and began turning it over. One sleeve of his shirt was still wet. He caught it under a fold and had to stop Nell pushing.
“Wait. That’s me.”
She laughed once, sharply.
He freed his arm. Together they bundled the duvet back into the dryer.
“How much?” she asked.
He examined the display.
“Don’t look.”
“Dad.”
“Four pounds.”
She dug into the small front pocket of her jeans and produced two coins, warm from being sat on.
He took them. Added two of his own.
This time the duvet fell open as the drum turned. Nell stayed standing beside him for a moment.
“That looks better,” she said.
“It does.”
Then she went back to her chair and moved the biscuits into the space between them.