December

by Roger Noons

a glass of port wine.

‘It was when I read cleavage, good to perfect that I thought of you.’

    She frowned.

    ‘It’s a description of Turquoise, a blue-green mineral, prized as a gemstone and when you said your birthday is in December, I had to buy it.’

    ‘It’s beautiful.’

    ‘Shall I put it on you?’

    Grinning, she nodded. He walked around behind her, moved her hair onto one shoulder and lowered the pendant to an inch above the neckline of her dress. He fastened the clasp allowing his fingertips to brush the back of her neck.

    She shivered, jumped up and rushed to the mirror.

    ‘If you don’t like it, they will change—’

    ‘Jon, it’s beautiful, I’m sure I’ll not do it justice.’

    ‘But you will my darling. A beautiful object for a beautiful girl.’

Marie studied the pendant, smiled into her dressing table mirror. Apart from when he was away, representing King and Country, he had told her every day that she was beautiful. She would wear it tonight, she decided; her fiftieth birthday, their thirtieth wedding anniversary. She would give him her hand mirror so that he could see it as she wheeled him into the restaurant.

Grief

Roger Noons 

a small glass of port wine.

‘How long’s it been?’ Heather asked.

    ‘Seven months.’

    ‘Are you still grieving?’

    Alex stared through the window. ‘You’ll probably think me hard, but I don’t do grief. I’ve always believed it to be associated with guilt.’

    When he looked back to his former colleague, she was frowning.

    ‘Most of what’s described as grief is regret, that you didn’t do as much as you should or could have done for the person while they were alive.’ When she said nothing more, he added. ‘In forty two years I did everything Rosy asked. She adored flowers, so I managed the garden so that at least one plant was in bloom every day of the year, even if it meant allowing dandelions to seed. She never learned to drive, so whenever I could, I would be her chauffeur. She always had first choice of where we went on holiday.’

    ‘I know you were a good husband, but you must miss her?’

    ‘Of course, but that’s sadness not grief. I wish she were still here, but not in the sorry way she was during those last months. When she died, it was her wish and a release for us both.’

    ‘Okay, I think I understand.’ She smiled. ‘How about you come to supper one evening?’

    ‘That would be nice thank you, do you have a date in mind?’

    ‘Any time to suit you … in fact you could stay over if you like?’

    He stared, believed her expression offered more than food and wine. ‘I don’t know Heather. I may not be grieving but I might think I was being unfaithful.’

    She shrugged. ‘Your choice, Alex, the offer’s there.’

About the author 

 Roger is a regular contributor to Cafe Lit and earlier this year his volume entitled Slimline Tales was poured by Chapeltown Books.