Thursday, 23 October 2025

Her Fiery Red Hair by Aneta Ciszek-Kowalska, black coffee

He could swear her hair turned a more intense red when she got angry, as if catching fire. Perhaps it was just the light, the way she was standing up against a window. For a moment there, he lost the trail of thought, stopped listening altogether. She was gesturing excessively, that level of hand waving didn’t bode well.

He came over and reached for her hands, pulling her gently towards him. A calming gesture. She sighed heavily and stopped talking, so he guided her onto the sofa, where she plonked heavily. He dropped her hands, and she rested them on her lap.

‘How could she be missing?’ she said in a quieter voice now, not calm, but resigned rather.

The silence that followed made her words hang in the air.

‘Thousands of people go missing in the country each year, most of them return home shortly after,’ he finally spoke.

She turned around as if in slow motion and looked at him like he was from another planet. That wasn’t the answer she needed to hear. It was one of these questions that required a compassionate response, rather than facts and statistics. But that’s just the way he was.

‘She will be back soon, you will see,’ he tried again and this time it resonated better, he could see it on her face.

A slight nod of hear head, then she rested her cheek on his shoulder, the flame-like hair tickling his chin. It was curly and very unruly. She hated it sometimes, but he loved it. Especially the way it smelled, her shampoo. He inhaled deeply. Jackie’s hair did not have such intense fragrance, nor colour.

‘She hasn’t been to work for two days. I don’t even know how long she has been missing for. I haven’t spoken to her since Friday! I feel so bad about it now. ’ The words were flowing fast out of her mouth. She sniffed, her nose red, matching the colour of her fiery hair.

'She has been gone three days,' he said, but she couldn’t hear him, the words only spoken in his head.

‘I am restless. I can’t stand still and just wait. I have to do something.’ She jumped up suddenly, startling him.

He blinked, he had to play along.

‘We should bring a picture.’ She retrieved her mobile and scrolled through the photographs, searching for one of her friend. ‘We could wander around in her local area and ask if anyone had seen her.’

She selected one photograph, a close up of her friend’s face. It drew his attention. The dark brown eyes smiling into the lens.

‘Aren’t the police doing that?’ he asked, without taking his eyes off the photo.

‘Sure, yeah, but you know how they are always, understaffed. Should we make posters?’

‘If you want.’

The look she threw him made him realise how it sounded, indifferent, as if they were considering getting takeaway, rather than trying to find her missing friend.

‘Sure, let’s do that,’ he rushed to tell her then, making an effort to sound more eager this time.

‘Should we start with the local pub? I know she went there sometimes for a pint or two.’

She waited for him, in case there was something else he wanted to suggest or add, but he didn’t. He just gestured with his extended arm for her to go.

‘After you,’ he said.

The pub was empty at the early hour of the afternoon. The staff were busy cleaning up and getting ready for the evening. She came right up to the barman -  her companion stood a few feet behind -  retrieved her mobile out of the pocket and showed the bartender a picture of her friend, then asked if he had seen the woman.

‘Yeah, I think she came here Saturday nigh.’ He nodded, stacking the pint glasses on the shelf.

‘Alone?’

‘Police were here before you. I told them she was with a man, if it was her, that is.’

‘A man?’

‘Yeah, about her age. Looked a little bit like your friend over there,’ he gestured.

She turned around and he smiled weakly, then averted his gaze towards the floor, rubbing some stain off the wooden floor with the tip of his shoe. The barman looked at the spot on the floor and a crease appeared between his eyebrows.

‘I didn’t get a good look, though. It was busy. They didn’t stay long,’ he added.

‘Any idea where they might have gone after?’

‘Not a clue, sorry.’

 

‘She was with somebody.’ They exited the pub and she had to speak up to be heard over the noise of the traffic.

‘I heard.’

‘I kind of want to go to the station to find out what they know. See how I can help.’

She waited for the bus to pass, before speaking again.

‘We will just be in the way,’ he reasoned.

A deep sigh escaped her.

‘Do you really think so?’

She seemed a little distracted somehow.

‘Are you alright?’

‘I am just,’ she started and stopped, taking large and slow gulps of air. ‘ I think I am stressed.’

‘Of course you are.’

‘All this... I just don’t know how to deal with it all. I think I need to sit down,’ she looked the direction of the pub entrance.

‘No, don’t get back in there. There are only heavy drunks in there at this hour. Come on, let’s find a coffee shop or something.’

‘Can we go to yours? I can’t face people right now.’

She must have noticed his hesitation, so he hurriedly answered before the surprised look on her face took hold for longer.

‘Sure.’

 

The key glided smoothly into the lock and she touched his hand before it turned.

‘What’s happened to your hand?’

‘I was gardening.’

‘At this time of the year?’

The key turned and the door opened, before he spoke.

‘Yeah, the bulbs had to go in, so they could come up in the spring.’

‘Right.’

‘This and the neighbours’ dog died.’

‘What?’

‘They have a paved backyard and asked me if I could bury him.’

‘In your garden?’

‘Well, yeah. I didn’t want to make it more difficult for them. I picked a corner when there is no traffic, beside a rose bush. No one will disturb him there.’

‘And they made you dig it up by yourself?’

‘They are elderly; I insisted.’

‘Wow, fair play. When was that?’

He looked at her funny.

‘This Sunday, why?’

She shrugged.

‘Do you want some coffee?’

‘Not sure; I'm all jittery as is. But I will have a glass of water.’

He disappeared into the kitchen, but didn’t find her in the living room when he returned. A cold draft was slipping into the room from the terrace door left ajar. He stepped outside into the garden.

‘Are you admiring my roses? They are not in bloom now.’

The lawn was well watered and squelched slightly as he approached her, making her jump a little.

‘Was that a big dog?’

‘Large enough. Do you want your water?’

She sipped thirstily as if she was in the middle of a desert and had not drunk for days. Water droplets dribbled down her chin.

‘Your hand is shaking. You are going to drop and break the glass.’

He reached for the empty glass and struggled a bit to free it from her hand. It seemed to have glued itself to her palm, her grip firm and tight, so lifted her fingers off the glass, one by one, took it away, and disappeared inside the house.

Unable to help herself, she started digging with her bare hands. The soil that had been recently moved yielded easily enough, dirt getting under her fingernails, she cried as one of them broke.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, appearing at the door, his voice strangely calm.

Her eyes opened wide as she turned, like a deer’s caught in the headlights.

‘The barman said he saw someone like you with Jackie on Saturday night. Was that you?’ She couldn’t hide the panic and her voice came out high pitched and off key, resonating and vibrating with every note that came out of her mouth.

He shrugged, but said nothing.

 

Wiping the sweat off his forehead and his temple, he left dirty marks on his face, grit under his fingernails. He rested his arm on the shovel, the weight of his body digging it further in. Taking the moment to catch a breath, he flatted the soil near the rose bush that she disturbed.

Something drew his attention, his eye travelled. It was a long fiery hair strand burning in the autumnal sun. He bent down to pick it up, the long red hair swayed in the air. He crumbled it in the palm of his hand, squeezing it tightly, regretting that he won’t be able to smell it anymore.

 

About the author

  

Aneta Ciszek-Kowalska writes psychological thrillers, suspense and speculative fiction, along with children's stories and theatre plays. Completed a creative writing course QQI Level 5 with distinction. Master of Political Science, Bachelor of Business in Human Resource Management. Working full time, mother of two boys. 

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