Elena’s Sunday

Elena is an early riser by habit, but on Sunday she permits herself to stay in bed until nine. She never works at the weekend; instead she makes a pot of tea and settles down with a book, savouring the quiet of the morning while the rest of the building is still asleep.

Her brother Marco frequently drops in for lunch. Elena cooks pasta or rice, since he is partial to both, and now and then they prepare the meal together, bickering cheerfully over how much salt it needs. At other times she cooks alone while he leans against the counter and recounts the events of his week while the kitchen window steams up and the radio murmurs in the background.

After lunch Marco proposes a film, but Elena is worn out. “I’d much rather sleep than sit through anything,” she says. “In that case, the washing-up is mine,” he replies, rolling up his sleeves with exaggerated enthusiasm. Elena sinks into the sofa and listens, half asleep, to the clatter of plates and the sound of him humming.

Later in the afternoon they stroll through the park. The air is cold, yet the sun is unexpectedly warm on their faces. As ever, they buy an ice cream, however wintry the day, and eat it on a bench while the other walkers hurry past in their scarves, glancing at them with mild disbelief.

At seven Marco heads home, as he has to be at work early on Monday. Elena lingers at the door until he disappears down the street, then turns back into the quiet flat, content. A day like this is exactly what a busy week has earned her, and she already looks forward to the next one. Her phone buzzes once with a message from Marco: “Home safe.”