A large glass of Coke
Jamie was watching from his bedroom window. The visitor glanced up at him before pushing open the gate, slipping through, and allowing it to clang shut behind him. The twilight limited Jamie’s identification, but sensing possible danger, he left his room and took the stairs two at a time. He was able to open the front door before the bell had chimed.
The stranger looked him up and down. ‘Mr Gardner?’
‘Mr Malcolm Gardner?’
‘No, I’m his son, can I help you?’
‘I would prefer to have a word with your father, is he in?’
‘What’s it about?’
‘Is your father in, please?’
‘I’ll go and see.’
In less than a minute, Jamie had returned to the doorway. ‘He’s rather busy at the moment; he asked why you wanted to see him.’
The stranger glared at Jamie, whose face reddened under the scrutiny. ‘How old are you?’
‘… Seventeen …’
‘Well, if you want to celebrate your eighteenth birthday, stay away from Prêt A Manger in the High Street, and stop following my wife. She is almost old enough to be your mother, and is disturbed and annoyed by your attentions. Do I make myself clear?’
Daniel nodded vigorously and watched the man march down the path before he closed the door.
Although he had responded, Jamie had not registered any of the words which followed mother. He slowly climbed the stairs, and on entering his room, threw himself down on the bed.
As images of his late mother and the woman slide-showed through his mind, the tears began. It was two weeks after the funeral when he had first seen her, leaving the Solicitor’s Office where he assumed she worked. His immediate reaction was shock. She was wearing a dark green coat with brown high-heeled shoes; her hair was cut in a bob and she walked, swinging her bag, head held high. She was the image of his mother, as he remembered her ten years previously.
As he followed the woman, his mind whorled. Although his mother had never spoken of a sibling, could she be a younger sister?
It had become his regular practice to hang around opposite the office, await her exit and once she had begun her journey, to follow. Initially he had maintained a distance, but as in his mind he engaged in conversation with the woman, he walked closer and closer until she must have become aware of him, and reported the matter to her husband.
He had planned an approach for the following day; ask if by any chance she might be his aunt. He realised that such action would now be impossible; he would never know. His cries developed into sobs, his body shaking with the intensity.
About the Author
Having spent the best part of thirty-five years writing reports on such subjects as ‘Provision of Caravan Sites for Travellers’ and ’Aspects of Pest Control in the Urban Environment’, Roger Noons began even more creative writing in 2006, when he completed a screenplay for a friend who is an amateur film maker. After the film was made, he wrote further scripts and having become addicted, began to pen short stories and poems. He occasionally produces memoirs and other non-fiction. He has begun to perform his poems, and has just published ’An A to Z by RLN’, an anthology of 26 short stories. He intends by the end of the year to have followed that up with a novella.
He is a member of two Writers Groups and tries his hardest to write something every day. As well as CaféLit, he has had credits in West Midlands newspapers, The Daily Telegraph, Paragraph Planet, Raw Edge and a number of Anthologies.
Roger is a regular contributor to the CaféLit site and a couple of his stories have been selected for theBest of CaféLit 2012.