Time for bed

They’d barely settled on the couch when Jessie materialised beside them.

“Can’t sleep,” she said. “Can someone read to me?”

Kel looked at Dave with quiet desperation.

“Fine,” he said, sighing.

Unceremoniously, he carried Jessie to her bed and, kicking off his slippers, joined her under the doona.

His resentment at being disturbed evaporated as she first wriggled into his chest and then, four pages in, went limp.

With his task complete, he decided to momentarily rest his eyes.

But the warm bed and the metronomic whisper of her breathing conspired against him. He was soon dead to the world.

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