The streetlights were dim as the mist enclosed them in its mysterious grip. She peered out of her window into the darkness, was there someone out there or was it her imagination?

"Fiddlesticks", she muttered to herself. Long years, thirty two of them, to be precise, had conditioned her response. This wasn't the first time she had imagined something, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Letting the curtain drop back to its place, she shuffled over to the stove. The water was bubbling away merrily and in a jiffy she had the pot all filled, scones buttered...and as had been the practice these last thirty two years, two places set at the table by the heater.

She shivered slightly as a slight draft of wind made its way beneath the door. Pulling her wrap around her more tightly, she was about to pour the tea, when there was a knock on the door.

Before she could get up, she heard a key being inserted in the door, saw the knob turn, the door swing open...and there he was...her Jim, after thirty two years.

She fainted.