John stepped into the room, his nostrils flooding with the familiar scents of home; Pledge, lavender and soup in the kitchen. What a surprise he’d give Lillie when she got home. He paced the room nervously flattening his soaked uniform, fixing his hat neat and precise. Chuckling his gran used to say all the nice girls love a sailor, well she’d been right.
He looked round their living room, there was something different about it something under the sweet smell, salt? Couldn’t be. He must have brought the smell of the sea back with him.
The cards on the mantelpiece? Right her birthday the week before.
On the window ledge he saw his photograph, his first time to sea, his first ship, Resilient, oh he had been handsome in his younger days. The sunlight caught the frame, noticing a rose by the photograph, such a romantic thing to do, the remains of a candle, soft lass had been praying for him and there he was empty handed, a gesture would have to do, there was no time to buy anything now, she’d be back from the shop any minute.
John had an idea he’d put the rose in her hair just like when they were young. It felt cold to the touch just like his body, the uniform was chilling him to his bones as the sun fell on the crystal clock he looked at the sky, the colour of forget-me-nots you wouldn’t have thought he’d walked through a storm to get here.
Taking a sniff of the rose, there it was, the smell of the sea mixed with clay where sweeter fragrance should be. The key rattled in the lock he ran to hide behind the door, what a shock she’d get.
The door opened, John could see from his limited vantage, the tell tale signs she’d been crying. All silly romantic notions left his head. Lillie was hurting.
He walked to her side embracing her, but instead of turning into his arms as he thought she would, he was ignored. It didn’t matter he would wait. Perhaps he was in trouble for forgetting her birthday.
Looking at the sheer number of cards, it seemed he was the only one. Lilac and silver the colours of choice this year; weren’t women’s cards usually pink?
They were very plain.
Oh.
He let her go, inspected the cards. How could he have not seen? He placed the rose in her hair, trailed his fingers down her face before kissing her oblivious cheek.
“Goodbye”
Clara Lucea
There’s plenty more from the The Iris Tribune, why not put your feet up and stay a while? https://theiristribune.co.uk/this-months-issue/
