The forest green t-shirt was a Tesco clearance item brought down to £2.50 by a careless snag from a careless customer. The hole, pricked above the tummy, was so tiny that it wasn’t visible between Emily’s fingers; even before buying that t-shirt, her hand was always carefully placed in front of her problem area. Steven never had to mention the lower stomach roll because she had already been told more than enough. He’d touch it when they cuddled, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing the fat gently like it was a joke. When she broke away, he never understood why.
Eleven weeks later, she accidentally added a tea stain to the forest green t-shirt, due to a nervous wobble of the hand when he kept talking about a female colleague. Old woman, he said, quickly, when her pout became too marked and her silence deafening. How old we talking? At least fifty. Not old at all, then. Despite popular opinion, it is possible for a thirty-three-year-old male to have a thing for a fifty-year-old woman, even one with sun damage who dresses her age.
Emily was wearing that t-shirt on the evening she brought their relationship to an end. This just isn’t working. He sat silently on the bed in her cramped little flat, the tired mattress sinking in the middle. She stood with her arms crossed tight enough to hold her together, waiting for him to leave.
She wore the t-shirt again when he asked to talk to her three weeks later; any other shirt would become tainted by association and this one was already ruined. He said with convincing sincerity that she was worthy of love and he loved her and would always love her and would always want to be with her and that she didn’t need to do this. Words, words. Everyone knows actions must match words, but if the words can be fake, so can the actions.
In another life, unfettered by the Guy Before, she would have believed him and they would have lived together happily until they were ninety. She wouldn’t have slammed the door, ripped off the t-shirt, screwed it into a ball, and chucked it into the black bin because the clothes recycling seemed too good for it. Neither would she have avoided his pleading calls, endless reassurance, gifts that were too special, or stalked him on Facebook for signs of deceit.
Fifteen years and forty-seven weeks later, there it was: Steven Robert Williams is in a relationship with some stunner called Melanie Jones. In one hundred and thirty-two weeks more, the happy couple were married, holding onto each other for a photoshoot as the clifftop wind threatened to drive them into the sea. Finally, the truth Emily had worked so hard to find: Steven had never loved the unworthy woman in her forest green t-shirt with the careless hole and tea stain, screwed up in a ball and discarded.
about the author
Hannah Retallick is from Anglesey, North Wales. She was home educated and then studied with the Open University, graduating with a First-class honours degree, BA in Humanities with Creative Writing and Music, before passing her Creative Writing MA with a Distinction. Hannah has gained recognition in many international competitions, including receiving Highly Commended in the Bridport Flash Fiction Prize 2022 and winning the £2000 Edinburgh Award for Flash Fiction 2024 – the biggest flash prize in the UK. Her debut short story collection, Something Very Human, was released by Bridge House Publishing in November 2024. https://www.hannahretallick.co.uk/about
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