by Matthew Roy Davey
chocolate milk
The
previous tenants had abandoned some of their stuff when moving out: books in the
bathroom, a Japanese doll in the spare room, dirty dishes in the sink. The estate-agent apologised and told us it
would be taken care of before we moved in, should we like it.
In
the fridge was a box of chocolates and a pint of separating milk. I opened the chocolates. Lying on the hard-centres was a piece of
paper, folded once. I took a chocolate
and opened the note.
‘Maria,
I
love you
ALWAYS!
Xxx’
I
felt like a thief, reacting with no flash of joy, sad instead, a nothing meant
for someone else. I wondered why they’d
left in such a hurry. The chocolate was
cold and hard.
Maria
had not seen the note but then neither had my girlfriend. I would not make the same mistakes.
