The Thermos

The doctor said heart. The village agreed it was heart. Edith went home, made a pot of tea, and wrote down everything Gerald Thwaite had eaten and drunk that afternoon, which was a habit she had carried over from forty years of marking exams: when in doubt, list. He had eaten a scone. He had eaten half a cucumber sandwich. And he had drunk, repeatedly, from his own thermos, the green tartan one he carried everywhere, because Gerald had famously not trusted the tea urn since the incident in 2011. Edith underlined the thermos twice. Then she remembered that in the chaos after he fell, when everyone was crowding and crying, she had seen Mrs. Albright from the committee pick that thermos up off the grass, very calmly, and carry it away.