“I can’t believe you didn’t pack them,” Mary said digging through the bag in her lap.
“I thought chocolate was a bad idea.”
Mary turned and gave Rob a disbelieving look. “You’re joking…”
“Um… No. It melts,” Rob said not taking his eyes from the road.
Mary sniffed in indignation. “That’s the whole point in chocolate. Its meltiness.”
Rob just shook his head and allowed himself a small smile. Once the conversation would have had him in stitches but at the moment with everything they owned in the beat up mini he just couldn’t do it. They were traveling thirty miles to Mary’s parents where they had a static caravan that they could stay in. The only problem was that it had been partially gutted to be turned into a chicken house.
Now it would be their house.
The small smile died on his lips. Mary saw and leant over and squeezed his knee. “It’s okay. I’ll cope without the chocolate.”
Rob lowered his eyes for a moment. He knew that she was saying that it didn’t matter that he had lost his job or that they had been evicted. That they only had fifty pounds between them. Mary was saying that no matter what she was where she wanted to be.
“Rob!” Mary screamed and he looked up only to see a woman in the middle of the road. He jammed on his brakes and slid to a stop. The woman lowered her waving arms and walked over the the drivers side. As she did she glanced at the car and seemed to nod when she saw it was packed with their possessions.
Rob unwound his window. “Yes?”
“Are you on holiday?”
Rob looked at Mary and she shrugged saying without speaking that she was uncertain why the woman had asked but seemed harmless.
Rob looked at the lady and noted her manicured hand leaning on the door and the designer top. It didn’t really matter but he found himself wondering if he ought to lie. He felt ashamed of their situation. Before he could work out what to say Mary leaned over him.
“No… We are relocating.”
Rob smiled and kissed her cheek. It was a great way to put it.
The woman looked at them with something akin to longing. “Then I was wondering if you could help me. I have just got divorced and it wasn’t amicable…”
Oh god, Rob thought. Please don’t ask us to help with a body. He felt Mary stiffen.
“You see I am the money.” She gave a humourless laugh and waved a crumpled piece of paper at them. Rob took it. “He wants me to sell the house for whatever I can get…”
Rob cut her off. “We have no money.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” she said smiling.
“What?” asked Mary.
“Well, he never specified a price. So how much do you have in your purse?”
Rob looked at Mary and then they both looked at the woman.
“This is a joke. Right?”
“No, just read the letter.”
Rob opened it and together they read it, noting the words ‘bitch’ and ‘cow’ and others. For a moment they looked at each other. Then Mary spoke. “About fifty quid.”
“Deal!” The woman exclaimed clapping her hands together. “If you would drive round the corner and park my lawyer is in the house and we can get this done immediately.”
So they did.
This is an urban myth that circulates the family. I think it is just a story to make you slow down on country lanes, but I do love it for the story value. I am hoping one day to expand it and tell Mary and Rob’s story. This post as inspired by the daily prompt – let’s go crazy.
Every year I follow a tradition for Christmas. Of late I follow ‘The Plan’.
Me and Granddad sorted out ‘The Plan’ before he died. You see at the time I thought nothing of it but I think he knew he was going because he made his last wish to have Christmas. And he didn’t want some blingy Christmas of flashing lights and singing Santas, instead he made me promise to make it traditional.
That year I had already brought his gifts and some wooden Christmas tree decorations. To go more traditional.
But then he went. It was sudden.
There was a vote.
“I don’t think it ought to happen.”
“Nan is upset.”
“I don’t feel like Christmas.”
And there was crying. Lots of crying. But I remembered the conversation we had, me and Granddad. So I put my foot down.
“We are having Christmas. There will be a tree but no flashing lights…”
And I went on.
The tree was bought, a live one that could be ‘freed’ after Christmas. From a few minutes of conversation my Granddad started a tradition. Now, every year we have a live tree and traditional decorations… As well as the meal with all the trimmings and far too many presents. But the actual tradition just sneaked up on me. Last year I suggested getting a plastic tree. It didn’t come to blows but it did get ugly…
We got a live tree which is growing ‘free’ on the smallholding having plugged a hole in the fence.
This post was inspired by the daily prompt – time after time.
Martin shifted on the bed trying not to wake Tracy. When she had suggested that it would be better if they had a four-foot bed, he had agreed. His one love was to sit up at night and read Dickens. Now he had the bedside table and a lamp, but if he moved Tracy would shift and moan.
Even turning over in bed had become a synchronized movement. So as Martin shifted, trying to get more comfortable Tracy stirred.
Martin winced. “Yes, Sweetie?”
“Did you get it?” Tracy’s voice was muffled and slow with sleep.
“No,” Martin said abstractly as he read the next paragraph.
Martin put down his book and looked at his wife. She was still asleep or almost asleep. “What should I have got?” he asked, a worried frown on his face.
“Um…” Martin reached for his book realising that he was getting no sense from his wife.
“For tomorrow,” she suddenly said and turned her back to him.
Tomorrow? Martin wracked his mind trying to find the answer. “Sweetie, what’s happening tomorrow?”
Tracy’s eyes sprang open and she sat up. “What?”
“Nothing,” Martin said. “I thought you said something in your sleep…”
“Oh,” Tracy said, flopping back onto the bed. “For a moment there I thought you’d forgotten Mum’s birthday. You did get the ….. ummmmm….”
Martin froze. Oh God he’d forgotten. Slowly he eased out of the bed.
Tracy twitched slightly. “Where are you going?”
“Just giving you some distance.”
From the door Martin poised himself on the threshold. “Sweetie?”
Tracy turned and looked at him. She narrowed her eyes.
“I forgot.” And as her expression turned to one of shock he stepped into the hall and gently closed the door behind him. Maybe he ought to give her some time to cool off. As he lifted his foot up to step forward he heard his wife get out of bed.
“What?” Her indignant voice echoed around the house.
This post is inspired by the daily prompt – Talk in your Sleep.
I am in a competition but in order to win I need my story to be read and liked via the links on the page. It’s free so my ask is that as many of you who can go over and give it a read. Thank you…