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You groaned and hid under the covers when you heard the front door open and slam shut. Only one man in existence could make something as mundane as entering his own house sound dictatorial, but there he was. And he was your man, as it happened, so you had to deal with it, too.
“Luv, you home?” Alfie shouted to you and you sighed heavily.
You were supposed to have been ready to go out an hour ago, but as always that time of the month decided to come at the least convenient moment. So, with your hair in disarray and still in pyjamas, you were curled up in a ball under the covers and prayed that the pain would soon subside.
“You all right?” You heard the door to the bedroom open and the sound of Alfie’s heavy steps.
“No,” you muttered from under the covers and then moved away when you felt the mattress creak and Alfie sat down beside you.
“Headache?”
“Worse,” you barked, frustrated both with yourself and the pain. You tried to wish it away, but the more you tried, the worse it became.
He seemed to understand exactly what this was, he usually did, but you never expected him to do what he did next. You heard the heavy boots and some of the clothes thrown to the floor and then Alfie invaded your space under the covers and exhaled heavily when he pressed himself to your back.
“What are you doing?” you half-laughed, half-groaned, but then sighed in relief when he wrapped his arms around you to hold you closer. Somehow, it helped.
“You smell of rum,” you complained.
“Yeah, was hopin’ ya wouldn’t notice this time, pet.”
You laughed because your opinion of his occupation was something of an inside joke between you.
“That old fortune teller was right, you know?” you whispered.
“What?” Alfie chuckled at the theatrics. He could immediately tell when you weren’t entirely serious.
“Remember? We just got married and you took me to the carnival in Brighton…”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“And I had my fortune told.” You closed your eyes, enjoying the embrace and the scratch of Alfie’s beard against your neck. “She saw the ring on my finger and said my husband would spend more time with the bottle than with me. Sometimes I think she’d be glad to know how right she was.”
Alfie laughed at that and you groaned, because another wave of pain hit you that very moment. You cursed under your breath and he understood at once, holding you with one hand and stroking your back with the other in soothing circles.
“Two shillings she got for that bloody fortune,” you muttered. “So how’s the business?”
“Yeah, ‘s all right.”
“Yeah?” You closed your eyes again and enjoyed the way his steady breathing against your back had calmed you down. “You sure we shouldn’t look for the Brighton witch again?”
“Fuck me, we need a bigger bed is what we need…” Alfie moved to a more comfortable position against your back and you giggled at the frustration in his voice. You knew he didn’t believe in magic or anything else of the sort, despite all of his personal superstitions.
“Right, next time ya need your future told, we can give my mother a visit, luv,” he grunted, “she’ll tell ya all sorts of unfortunate events that will befall your stunnin’ person, right, for as long as you are married to her son. An’ she’ll do it for free, me mum, ‘cause she’s fond of me like that.”
You laughed at that, you just couldn’t help it. There was no one else who could make you laugh like that, even when you were miserable and in pain.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to go with you tonight, my darling.” You reached for his hand and he hummed appreciatively at the sentiment.
“Go where? I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
“Oh, come on,” you sighed. “I know tonight was important to you…”
Alfie scoffed at that and kissed your cheek.
“My wife is important, all right?” he murmured into your ear. “The rest can fuck off.”