A Sweet Tooth by Sarah Swatridge, hot chocolate

 “We shouldn’t be in here,” Heather whispered as she tried to steer her husband, John, to the door of the sweet shop.

“I know,” he said pulling a sad face. “Just let me look?”

 Heather hesitated. They were enjoying a day out. John had patiently waited while she’d been in several of the second-hand bookshops. That was her guilty pleasure. Surely John deserved to indulge a little too?

 She was torn. The quaint, bay-windowed shop was fascinating; shelves and shelves of glass jars full of sweets. Even just reading their names brought back so many happy memories. It was like being a child again. She could almost feel the thruppenny bit in her hand that her nan had given her.

 “Oh look, sour apples, I never liked them, although my best friend did. Mind you, she loved those boiled lemon sweets filled with a sharp sherbet,” Heather winced at the thought.

 “My brother liked those Chocolate Eclairs and he loved Aniseed Balls,” John said pointing to various jars.

 Heather glanced at the door wondering if they should just go now. There was so much temptation and John had been diagnosed as pre-diabetic. So far, he’d done tremendously well, giving up sugar in tea and coffee and cutting out puddings and cakes. Nowadays, he needed a belt to keep his trousers up!

“Let’s go,” Heather linked her arm through John’s. “I’m so proud of you, don’t blow it all here.”

“I’m only reminiscing,” he gave her a smile and squeezed her arm. “What was your favourite?” he asked.

 “Liquorice,” Heather said immediately, but suddenly something else caught her eye. “Cough Candy! I haven’t had those in years. Oh, and Flying saucers, remember them?”

 John nodded as he methodically searched the jars. Heather knew what he was looking for. His favourite had always been Mint Toffees. She wanted to remind him about his blood test at the end of the week, but she knew he was all too aware of that, and he really didn’t want to end up taking tablets every day and putting his health at risk. She bit her tongue.

 “Can you believe it,” John shook his head. “All these sweets and no Mint Toffees!” His face dropped; his shoulders slumped, as he made for the exit.

 “Excuse me,” a woman said as she replenished a jar of Humbugs. “Did I hear you say you couldn’t find the Mint Toffees?”

“Yes but…”

 “Roger!” the woman said in a disapproving teacher’s voice. She didn’t need to say another word. The man behind the counter had turned scarlet.

“I can’t help it,” he mumbled and looked guiltily down at his feet. The woman marched to the counter and bent down only to retrieve an almost empty jar labelled Mint Toffees.

 “I’ll have a quarter please. Sorry, a hundred grams.” Heather said, thinking she’d hide them until after John’s blood test and then limit him to one a day, or possibly as a weekend treat? In moderation, of course.

The woman emptied what was left in the jar onto her weighing scales.

“It comes to one hundred and forty grams, is that ok?” Roger had gone pale.

“It’s the way to my husband’s heart,” Heather explained. “Believe me, you’ll make his day.”

The woman poured the wrapped sweets into a pink and white candy-striped paper bag.

“It’s not only the way to my husband’s heart,” the shopkeeper said, “it’s the way to the dentist!”. Roger gave a tooth-less grin.

About the author 

Sarah Swatridge writes short stories for women’s magazines worldwide. She also writes novels, usually historical, and has a growing number of large print books available in libraries and online. Visit www.sarahswatridge.co.uk and sign up to her monthly one page newsletter. 

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