According to YES Read Online Free Page A

Kemble’s other hand, and so they travel upwards, the little men holding on for dear life to the big man they so want, and they so want to be near, and they so want to be.

Up
    Inside Glenn and Thomas’s bedroom there is silence save for the odd grunt and sigh as the octogenarian and the septuagenarian wake up their ageing bodies and clamber into their clothes. Morning is such a creaky time these days. Sleep is an anaesthetic that renders the body alien and stiff. Glenn has accepted the changes with a certain reluctance, she stretches and yawns and slowly goes about her morning ritual. She looks out of her bedroom window, where she has a view into Central Park and she notes that the snow from three weeks ago still remains in clumps here and there where the most shade is. It’s cold, and that’s just how she feels, cold. The apartment is heated and all the radiators are warm. Glenn’s skin isn’t cold, her skeleton is. She knows it will warm up as she goes about her day and begins to move, but at the moment she is very cold on the invisible inside.
    Thomas is unwilling to concede that time is stealing up on him. If ever there were a Canute of time, this is he. Old age is
lapping around his ankles, but still he insists his feet are dry. Although his bones ache, he likes to be brisk right from the very off. His wife often tells him to take it easy and slow down, but that’s just not his style. Consequently he often pulls a muscle or jerks a joint purely because he goes at life like a bull at a cape. Still a substantial man, Thomas stands to pull up his trousers and neatly tuck in his shirt. Glenn has selected both, as always. Once upon a time, he resisted her controls but he submits most of the time for the sake of a peaceful life. He doesn’t like the fact that he wears bigger shirts now to fit round his expanding girth, that his belt is two holes further out, that half of the suits in his wardrobe are now defunct. It’s handy that Glenn puts out his clothes, it means Thomas can avoid thinking about everything connected to them. He doesn’t even like to look in the mirror if he can avoid it, but he can’t manage his tie without, so that’s the daily reality check moment. Yep, here he is. Tall, bit stooped, full head of silver hair, was reddy-blond once, silty blue eyes, pronounced features, with a landslide of sun-damaged liver-spot skin drooping off a strong, big-boned skull. A face to respect with the promise of fun lurking just behind his lovely lively eyes at all times. There was a time Glenn enjoyed that cheeky side of him, but more recently, she has little patience for any mischief, so it has left the building. He doesn’t stop to consider when they last belly-laughed together because the harsh reality would trouble him too much. He has occasionally wondered with sadness,
whether he will ever ever laugh again with her? Maybe that’s it now. No wife-fun til death. What a shame.
    How did they slide into this joyless way? It must have been a slow creep, he can’t recall a particular moment, a landmark of despair or depression that would have been a clear indicator. Nothing actually
happened
. It just became this way. And it’s not so terrible that he feels the need to get out. She is who she is and he is who he is, just … sort of less than they were. Tracing paper versions of their vibrant former selves. Less colourful, less lit, less everything. On the face of it, he has accepted that this diminished version of themselves is purely the ageing, but somewhere deep he knows that is baloney.
    He has reserve tanks he hasn’t tapped yet, and he’s not done, he’s just idling.
    So, yes, here he is. Tie done up. Maroon silk on blue striped shirt. Good. He looks like a reputable businessman, that’s right, because he is. There has been talk of retirement for him for at least twelve years, but he’s not prepared to go yet. He founded the law firm that has his name in its title, he is a presiding partner, why