Attic, Pt. 6

“Mum?” She held the box, the ring tucked into the crook of her middle finger on the left hand, and the letter on top. 

“There you are,” her mother replied, then, “what’s this?”

“I found a letter.” She let her mother take it. She watched closely as her mother read. A faint crease formed between her brows.

“This was up there?” She flicked her eyes in the direction of the opening. 

“In this box, with a photograph,” she studied the face that skimmed back over the letter, “this was there too…”

The light danced through the stone. Her mother sighed. She recognised the ring, Wendy realised.

Attic, pt. 4

Under the photograph, there was a letter in an envelope: Dearest Cath was written on the front in gorgeous cursive script. Wendy gently lifted it out and placed the box on a pile nearby. Something else rattled inside, but she’d check that after reading the letter. 

My love, it started, how can I know where to begin. How can mere words affect destiny? No matter how I implore the stars, the gods and men, I have nothing but words to lay my heart for you. You will be wed and lost to me…

A desperate love letter, pleading for her. 

Attic, part 3

Gently, Wendy opened the elegant brass clasp and lifted the lid. Inside, there was a photograph: a family scene. A mother and father were seated in the garden of a grand old house, and behind them stood two girls and a teenage boy. The father was clearly the man from the newspaper, a few years younger, his hair more peppered black and grey here than the other.

She turned the picture over, and read the faded message on the back: “Love eternal, from birth”. She turned back to look at the girls. Either one could have been in the newspaper. 

Attic, pt.2

She stared at the photograph. The woman in the picture looked young, maybe only early twenties. She was posing in a beautiful ball gown, one hand lightly resting on the shoulder of an older man, grey-haired, thick moustache and in a uniform adorned with medals. Wendy stared into the eyes of the carefree young woman looking up out of the photograph; ahead she had some incredible married life of riches and royal adoration. She gently untucked the folded newspaper and unwrapped the box inside it.

It was a dark wood box, delicately monogrammed with her grandmother’s initials, I.C.S.

Night Talks

“I absolutely hate the internet,” said I, placing my phone down on the bestside unit.

“Why?”

“Because,” I huff a deep breath, “Because it’s all total shite.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve just been on Facebook – saw one of those clickbaits that said: ‘Guy livetweets best pals divorce as it happens’…NINTY bloody tweets.’”

She laughed. “Was it worth it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh well,” said she.

“Actually, I think I might have read that before anyway. Such a sucker for stupid stuff like that.”

“Well, I’m going to sleep.”

“Fine, my love.”

“You settling down?”

“Mhmmm” as I keep scrolling

 

Friendship, Engage

I have the best friends. Here’s the proof.

We were in McDonald’s, the one on Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow’s city centre. We’d been for our usual town centre hanging out with the girls from school that we always spent our Saturdays with.

I remembered that the Killswitch Engage album had been released. And here we were, sitting about, wasting time! I opened my wallet and, to my dismay, £7 only! The HMV across the road was charging a hefty £9.99 for the new album. 

Friends always know when they have to step up. One – £1. The other £2. Heroes.

Breakfast

He stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. There, on the table, was a fresh mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal, ready for the milk. The sun was bathing the counter and his usual seat, so that when he sat, he had the distinct impression that she had just gotten up out of it and left the room.

There was a note propped against the coffee mug. He picked it up, surprised to breathe in her perfume. Enjoy your breakfast, my love. See you at six. He smiled, and held the note to his lips, breathing in.

Goodbye

He stood looking in from the bedroom door: Ryan and Will, both fast asleep. He tried to drink in the image, ingrain it on his memory. He knew that once he stepped out the front door, got into the car that was waiting for him, he wouldn’t be back for a long time.

He gently pulled the door over.  Down stairs, Denise waited for him with his case.

“You didn’t wake them, did you?”

“No, perfectly asleep.”

He bent down, picked up the case. She stood, chewing the edge of a finger. “Be safe.”

He nodded, then walked out the door.

22.47

Mark clicked the side button on his smartphone to check the time. He was surprised to see it was so late: 22.47. He was also surprised to see a new message notification. He opened the message. It was not very long.

Dani watched and waited for the ticks next to the message to turn blue – proof that he had read the message. Finally, it did – 10:47pm.  She put the phone down. When was he going to respond? Was she even right to have contacted him after all this time? She took the wine bottle and refilled her glass

Running

She cowered against the wall, praying that the shadow concealed her enough so that they’d run right on by. She struggled to keep her breathing in check; she knew she was far too loud. Her legs and ribs seared from where they’d caught her with their Io-Cannons. Already she could feel the bruises forming under her thermosuit.

There was no sound yet; that didn’t mean anything. They were smart, tactical experts. She was scared, a girl on the run. She knew their technology would track her down any minute. Even this suit could be giving her away. Her senses tingled.