Old Antonia and William · Y/n story by @niki72928

The morning sun, pale and thin for October, slanted through the kitchen window of the Ashton house. It caught the dust motes dancing above the Formica table and gleamed on the copper-bottomed saucepan simmering on the Aga. The air smelled of strong tea, toast, and the faint, ever-present scent of William’s pipe tobacco.

William Ashton

from his armchair by the wireless, not looking up from his paper You’ll wear a hole in the sink, woman. They’ll be here soon enough.

Antonia Ashton

sniffs, not turning You say that every Saturday. And every Saturday, they’re late. Sara’s always fussing with Lily’s hair, and Toby’s boys will have been wrestling in the back of the car. It’s a wonder they arrive with all their limbs.

William grunted, a sound that could have meant agreement or dismissal. He turned a page of the Financial Times with a crisp snap. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked, loud in the comfortable quiet.