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put out the stuff I could resell at half price into its rack. That left me with a good load. I paid Goss and let her out the back way and sat down to total my cash register receipts, count and bundle the money, and make out the deposit slip for the bank. Then I put the cash float in the drawer, allowed Horatio to precede me into the bakery, and sighed. Another day past and I was pooped.
    I walked down to the bank on the corner and deposited the takings, then I re-donned my trackies and began to clean the bakery. This involves a lot of scrubbing and I find it soothing. Big bakeries employ scullions, but I did it myself. Horatio always removes himself to the parlour when water sloshes across the floor, my last task. There. I wrung out a track suit leg and straightened my back. I had cleaned and dried all my cutlery and pots and mixers; I had tidied my own kitchen and washed my own dishes; the cat dishes were scrubbed, the cat litter was changed and the floor was scrubbed and it was me for a bath. I flung the tracksuit into the washer and set it going.
    I love baths. I ran one and sprinkled in Body Shop bath milk with a liberal hand. No, with a generous hand. Theoriginal meaning of that word has been lost. By the time I finished my eleven hour day I was always filthy. I lay there feeling like the Queen of Sheba. Dark blue dolphins danced along my frieze. Horatio sat on the edge. He balances beautifully. Vaughan Williams’ ‘The Lark Ascending’ was playing. Bliss.
    The CD finished and I finally arose from the foam, dried myself and put on my favourite garment. It is a floor length house gown of heavy dark purple silk figured with chrysanthemums, the only present I ever liked or kept among those my ex-husband James brought back from his travels. Though I sort of regret throwing out those toys from the sex museum in Amsterdam. Who knows what that strange object did when filled with warm milk as the directions suggested? Probably nothing good. I loved this part of the day. With my Esky in one hand and my cat in the other, I ascended to the roof garden like a goddess.
    The roof garden design has remained unaltered from the original, partly because when the building was unfashionable, someone had chained the entrance and the vandals didn’t know it was there. It has gazebos. It has pergolas. It has bowers. Horatio led the way to the rose bower, his favourite. I sat down on the wicker love-seat, concocted a gin and tonic from my Esky, added ice, and leaned back contentedly.
    No one here, except Mrs Pemberthy and her little doggie, Traddles. I don’t like dogs very much. They have no self control. But Horatio had obligingly taught Mrs Pemberthy’s yappy little mop-dog a measure of healthy fear and he usually never came near us. Mr Pemberthy was talking to Trudi near the lilac trees. A light shower of rose petals fell down on my dress as a starling landed on the bower. Horatio watched interestedly. The starling eyed Horatio. I drank my gin and tonic.
    The city was full of people who were working hard, and I wasn’t one of them. It is a lovely feeling. I closed my eyes for a moment. Horatio climbed onto my knee and curled up into a loaf shape, paws folded under. We drifted off into a light doze.
    When we woke someone was kneeling in front of us. I jumped and spilled the drink and Horatio, in keeping his balance, stuck a few claws into me. Every cat owner knows that this is not malicious. Which doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.
    ‘Sorry,’ apologised the kneeling person. I blinked myself awake. Trout pool eyes looked into mine.
    ‘Daniel? How did you get in?’
    ‘I met one of your girls, the one with green hair, in the street. She let me in and said you were up here. What a lovely place,’ he said.
    ‘Isn’t it? Would you like a drink? I’ve only got one glass,’ I said.
    ‘We can drink it sip for sip. You look very different in that gown,’ said Daniel, sitting down beside me and holding the glass while I poured