Unexpected Attentions

Lucy Oliver

Mint Tea

The flowers were unexpected.

Phil never sent me flowers when I was his girlfriend, Amy thought, looking at the pink and white roses from her favourite florist. Smiling, she touched the blooms, brushing soft petals against her fingertips. Briefly, she was able to forget her tears of the last week; the hours spent on the sofa cuddling her mobile phone, willing it to ring.

Arranging the flowers in a vase, she picked up her mobile and typed a single word, THANKS. Her finger hovered over the send button, but the phone suddenly beeped and erased the message. Maybe it was too soon to call? She glanced at the cupboard that still held his books, at his coat hanging by the door. She hadn’t tried to return them. He would have to come back - then they could talk, sort out the argument that had started petty, but escalated into something far more damaging. Amy touched her phone, aware that she had been working too late, coming home irritable and expecting him to have cooked dinner.

Closing her eyes, she dozed.

The rattle of the letterbox woke her and as she moved, Amy looked down to see her phone nestled against her heart and realised she must have picked it up in her sleep.

An envelope lay on the hall floor. It held a ticket for a romance film- the type she loved, and Phil hated.

Well that hasn’t changed, she thought, looking at the single stub.

Amy sat in the dark cinema, wondering if she would find him behind her - smiling, saying he was sorry. Her phone beeped a couple of times, annoyingly at the romantic bits, but never rang. She put it on the chair beside her and it stopped beeping, seeming happier. She assumed Phil would be waiting in the foyer, but he wasn’t and she drove home feeling angry and a fool. Why had he left her sitting alone?

A card waited on the doormat when she got back - a special delivery envelope from an internet company. It had a picture of a blue teddy holding a mobile phone.

Inside, it was blank except for a single printed heart. Amy smiled, Phil had always joked she loved her phone more than she did him. Maybe he intended the cinema ticket as a gift; a film he thought she might like to see.

She took a deep breath and called his number. Oddly, her mobile switched off, remaining silent in her hand.

Battery, she thought, picking up her landline and dialling.

‘Amy!’ Phil said. ‘I wanted to call, but I was afraid of making things worse. I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ Amy said, looking at his coat hanging beside her, reaching out to touch it.

‘Do you fancy celebrating Valentine’s Day with me tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I would.’

‘I’ll pick you up at eight. Oh, and you might want to check with that florist you use, they’ve put a transaction on my credit card, but I haven’t ordered flowers since Mother’s Day.’

Amy put the phone down and then jumped as she heard a loud bang behind her. Smoke drifted up from the sofa and she gasped, staring at the charred remains of her mobile phone. The cover had exploded outwards, forming two flaps in the shape of a burned out heart. 

Bio:

Lucy Oliver is published in Take a Break and Stories for Children magazines, as well as various anthologies. She won Stylist magazine's Micro Fiction competition and is currently working on a historical novel. 

A Year of Rain

Lucy Oliver

Espresso

Alice stared at the porch, newly built and smelling of fresh wood shavings. Above it workmen had nailed bright red slates that gleamed in vivid crimson under the sunlight.

           The people who had bought the burnt out shell never saw the yellow-red flames that haunted Alice’s dreams.

She heard a thud and turned, seeing her husband kick a beam lying in the grass, his hand touching the pocket where he had once kept cigarettes.  

They had never returned, until today.

“It’s time,” she had told him and Phil nodded, understanding her.

 Resting a hand on her stomach, Alice wandered around the garden gazing intently at the flowerbeds she had tended. It seemed strange to her that the plants remained unchanged. Leaning down, she touched the grass, tracing her fingers through the wet spikes, touching where her hands last clutched. She drew a sharp breath hoping that the scent of talc and raspberry shampoo had somehow lingered through the year of rain.

 She remembered watching Ella riding her bike across the grass. It was past dinnertime and crossly opening the white framed window, she had shouted, “You’re late!”

 Ella threw her cycle to the ground.

 “Pick it up,” Alice said.

 “After dinner!” Ella said, jumping up the porch steps.

 They had shared a big dish of pasta, the family of three, before Alice tucked Ella into her bed.

 “Sleep well my darling,” she said.

 She and Phil dozed in the lounge.

 On the back porch, the cigarette must have started smouldering.

 The fire fighters pulled them out.

 “Just in time,” the man said, putting a plastic mask across her face.

 She formed the word, ‘Ella,’ with scorched lips, but her throat had swollen and no sound emerged.

 They found the child twenty minutes later, peaceful and asleep. Never to wake.  

            Ella, always late.  

Snowdrops now nestled in the grass, opening tiny white heads over the familiar earth. Minute springs of soft, pale new grass emerged. Alice felt a kick - hard and alive - against her belly, then a tightening under her abdomen. Pressing her lips together, she rubbed her stomach, winching as the sharp cramps clenched deep into her body, accepting them as both a penance and a gift. 

 Turning, she saw Phil looking at her and recognised the expression in his eyes; the look she knew filled her own. He was her emotional mirror image - the only one who hurt as she did, who could possibly understand how she felt.

 He came over and placed his warm hand against her midriff. Her womb contracted at his touch and she moaned. Rocking on her heels, she inhaled the sweet scent of flowers from the garden until the pain began to ease.

 “It’s time,” Phil said. “We have to go.”

 Alice wiped her cheeks and leant down to touch the ground once more.“Good bye, my darling,” she said. “We miss you.”

 

Bio:

Lucy Oliver is published in Take a Break and Stories for Children magazines, as well as various anthologies. She won Stylist magazine's Micro Fiction competition and is currently working on a historical novel.

The Snowflake Gloves

By Lucy Oliver
Exspresso



Ricky placed the daisies, gloved hands brushing the kerb. He looked up at the steep hill remembering the screams and flashing blue lights. Thick ice gleamed from the road, the same as it had so many years ago.



***

“I don’t want you hanging around with that gang,” Ricky’s mum said. “They’re a bad influence.”

“You’ve been talking to Mrs Green. She hates all kids,” Ricky said.

“I’ve seen Liam smoking. And kicking a football against the cars. Why don’t you play with Josh instead?”

“I hate Josh, I hate living here, and I hate you!” Ricky said, slamming the front door.

He walked down the snow covered path, hands thrust into his pockets, fingers aching from the cold. The gang stood opposite, Liam in the centre with Laura, his Second-in-Command. Ricky could see them writing bad words on the lamppost.

Liam knew many bad words. He lived at the top of the street with his mother, a foul-mouthed woman avoided by the neighbours.

As Ricky watched, Laura pointed to a bent figure wrapped in an anorak, walking with a stick. It was Mrs. Green from number five. She shuffled past the group, staring straight ahead.

“Come on,” Laura said.

Ricky saw them creep after Mrs Green, pressing close behind. She stumbled as Liam stepped on the back of her shoe. Ricky bit his nail as Laura took hold of the woman’s handbag and pulled at the straps. Ricky thought he was happier when the gang raced their bikes or played street ball. He looked away.

“Get off!” Mrs. Green shouted, brandishing her walking stick. “Get off, or I’ll call the police!”

Laura drew back and Ricky watched Mrs. Green reach her front door. He breathed out, shoulders relaxing.



A curtain moved at the window next door and Ricky saw Josh’s face look out. The boy waved to him.

“Your friend?” Liam said.

“No,” he said.

Ricky looked back at his own house, his mother watching from the window. She often did when he played with the gang. It made Ricky feel bolder. He would laugh louder, run faster. He hoped that if he upset her enough, she would regret leaving Dad.

Liam flipped his skateboard into the air and Ricky clapped. His mother refused to buy him a skateboard. He was going to ask his father for one. Then he could race across the street with Liam, best friends.

“Can I ride your board down the hill?” Ricky said.

“What do I get in return?”

“What do you want?”

“Get him to do something awful,” Laura said.

The door to Ricky’s house opened. His mother walked down the path.

“Shout the F word at her,” Liam said.

Ricky pictured himself whizzing down the street on the skateboard, faster and faster, all the girls staring. His mum watching, hand to her mouth.

“Ricky, I thought you might be cold,” his mum said. She held out his black gloves with the snowflake picture on the back.

Ricky looked at them.

They were his favourite gloves. He and his mum had chosen them together one glorious day when his world seemed bleak. He thought of the hot chocolate they had shared, thick with cream. They had bought the gloves, watched the Christmas parade and hadn’t talked about the divorce.

“Go on,” Laura said.

Ricky raised his eyes to his mother, seeing her wan smile and reddened eyes. He remembered she had given him the flake from the drink. He looked at the skateboard and then back at the gloves.

“Thanks Mum,” he said, taking the gloves.

Liam spat on the floor near Ricky’s foot.

“Look at what you’re missing,” he said.

Liam jumped on the skateboard, speeding down the road, faster and faster.

Ricky never saw the car, but he heard Laura scream.

***

“I thought you might be here today,” a voice said.

Ricky turned round. It was Josh.

Ricky thought of his sons, waiting at home. He thought of his wife and the job he loved.

“I owe him,” he said.