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#164: Pothole

#164: Pothole
Odd Spot - The Age - 28/07/2022

Grace regretted it the moment she lay in the bed. Nothing felt right.

Peter, of course, hadn’t noticed and was already breathing deeply. The magazine article did mention that after having changed the mattress around, and things didn’t improve, it was time to get a new mattress. What it didn’t say was what to do between knowing nothing changed to actually getting the new bed.

Her head was now where Peter’s feet had been and her hip where his thigh had been. But her legs fell away in the divot of Peter’s upper body. She felt the pothole from his hipbone and it felt awful against her thighs.

The glow from the streetlight outside crept into the room along with the faint night sounds. A cat called out as if it were being murdered. A truck engine rumbled some distance away.

Grace slipped out of bed. In the corridor, she thought about climbing into Matilda’s bed, but made do with the couch.

Everything, Grace realised, has a place. This couch, for example. It has always been in this position in the room. And she’s only ever sat in the right-hand spot. She thinks back to when they first moved in. Everything was so hard back then. Boxes remained where the movers dumped them for months. She remembers using one particular stack as Rory’s change table. God knows what had been in those boxes, but they’d been the perfect height for her to change his nappies.

If it were time for a new mattress, what else needed a change?