it on Thursday.’
‘It wouldn’t have mattered. You fuss too much.’
By the time Sunday morning came round, and with it Paul’s departure, Anne had made herself believe that it was probably a good thing, after all. He would meet different people and, hopefully, would forget Debbie. If this transfer achieved nothing else, that would be a move in the right direction. She hadn’t been sorrowing for herself, only for Paul. He had always come first and foremost for her. If he could regain his peace of mind, he’d come to realise that he shouldn’t be working so far away from home, and everything would be back to normal.
He phoned on Monday night to let her know how his first day had gone. ‘It’s all a bit strange, but I expected that, to begin with. There’s one thing you won’t have to worry about, anyway. The digs the firm arranged for me are clean and really comfortable. Plus, Mrs Martin seems determined to fatten me up a bit. Well, I’ll see you Friday night, so keep your pecker up, tweetie-pie.’
Anne was overcome by happy tears when he rang off. It sounded as though he were coming back to normal again, getting over Debbie. ‘Keep your pecker up, tweetie-pie.’ That had always been his tagline when he rang to say he’d been kept late at the office, or couldn’t get home on time for some reason or other.
Paul had looked after her and comforted her ever since that dreadful day just over two years ago, when her whole world had crashed around her. She had thought she would never get over her husband’s death in that horrible, senseless crash. To think that an uncaring, drunken apology for a man could have … Ah, it was still too painful to think about, but now that she had picked up the threads of life again, she would be able to cope without him; even make new friends again.
They had both survived his first unhappy love affair, but there would be other girls for her nineteen-year-old son.
***
Word count: 2119
Sent to Woman’s Realm 21.1.86 - rejected 2.3.86
Sent to My Weekly 4.4.86 - rejected 3.5.86
Sent to Annabel 9.6.86 - rejected 25.7.86
Sent to People’s Friend 9.10.86 - rejected 29.11.86
Four rejections? Always hopeful, I did not bin this story, but never had the nerve to send it out again. Probably just as well.
The Peak Of Happiness
‘But Grandad, I’m tired. Why can’t we sleep in a bedroom?’
‘I told you, Sean, Grandad hasn’t paid for a bedroom, just two seats.’ Arthur Rowse sighed and wished that British Rail employees wouldn’t leave the sleeping compartments with their doors sitting open - the boy would never have known about them if he hadn’t seen them for himself. ‘We’ll easily manage to sleep in here. It’ll be great fun, won’t it - not sleeping in a bed?’
He slung his duffel bag up on to the luggage rack and sat down, his heart sinking at the sight of the little boy’s disappointed face. Stretching out a gnarled, weather-beaten hand, he patted the fair, curly head. ‘It’ll be easy. Put your feet up and lie down with your head on Grandad’s knees and you’ll be asleep in no time.’ He hoped fervently that no other travellers would want to come in.
‘When I waken up, will we be in Scotland?’
‘Like enough, Sean.’
‘Will I see the mountains, Grandad?’
‘Once we’re in Scotland, you’ll see them, I promise.’
It was 11.15 p.m., and their train was still standing in King’s Cross station. They had left Yarmouth at 3 o’clock that afternoon, so it was little wonder that the boy was tired. Plus, he’d been up at six to wave goodbye to his father and mother, on their way to Aberdeen where his father had taken a job as an engineer with an oil company. As most of their belongings had gone on ahead of them, it was just the odds and sods which had been loaded into the boot and back seats of their Capri.
The two adults and baby Susan had taken up all the space in the front of the car, so Arthur had volunteered to take Sean by
‘It wouldn’t have mattered. You fuss too much.’
By the time Sunday morning came round, and with it Paul’s departure, Anne had made herself believe that it was probably a good thing, after all. He would meet different people and, hopefully, would forget Debbie. If this transfer achieved nothing else, that would be a move in the right direction. She hadn’t been sorrowing for herself, only for Paul. He had always come first and foremost for her. If he could regain his peace of mind, he’d come to realise that he shouldn’t be working so far away from home, and everything would be back to normal.
He phoned on Monday night to let her know how his first day had gone. ‘It’s all a bit strange, but I expected that, to begin with. There’s one thing you won’t have to worry about, anyway. The digs the firm arranged for me are clean and really comfortable. Plus, Mrs Martin seems determined to fatten me up a bit. Well, I’ll see you Friday night, so keep your pecker up, tweetie-pie.’
Anne was overcome by happy tears when he rang off. It sounded as though he were coming back to normal again, getting over Debbie. ‘Keep your pecker up, tweetie-pie.’ That had always been his tagline when he rang to say he’d been kept late at the office, or couldn’t get home on time for some reason or other.
Paul had looked after her and comforted her ever since that dreadful day just over two years ago, when her whole world had crashed around her. She had thought she would never get over her husband’s death in that horrible, senseless crash. To think that an uncaring, drunken apology for a man could have … Ah, it was still too painful to think about, but now that she had picked up the threads of life again, she would be able to cope without him; even make new friends again.
They had both survived his first unhappy love affair, but there would be other girls for her nineteen-year-old son.
***
Word count: 2119
Sent to Woman’s Realm 21.1.86 - rejected 2.3.86
Sent to My Weekly 4.4.86 - rejected 3.5.86
Sent to Annabel 9.6.86 - rejected 25.7.86
Sent to People’s Friend 9.10.86 - rejected 29.11.86
Four rejections? Always hopeful, I did not bin this story, but never had the nerve to send it out again. Probably just as well.
The Peak Of Happiness
‘But Grandad, I’m tired. Why can’t we sleep in a bedroom?’
‘I told you, Sean, Grandad hasn’t paid for a bedroom, just two seats.’ Arthur Rowse sighed and wished that British Rail employees wouldn’t leave the sleeping compartments with their doors sitting open - the boy would never have known about them if he hadn’t seen them for himself. ‘We’ll easily manage to sleep in here. It’ll be great fun, won’t it - not sleeping in a bed?’
He slung his duffel bag up on to the luggage rack and sat down, his heart sinking at the sight of the little boy’s disappointed face. Stretching out a gnarled, weather-beaten hand, he patted the fair, curly head. ‘It’ll be easy. Put your feet up and lie down with your head on Grandad’s knees and you’ll be asleep in no time.’ He hoped fervently that no other travellers would want to come in.
‘When I waken up, will we be in Scotland?’
‘Like enough, Sean.’
‘Will I see the mountains, Grandad?’
‘Once we’re in Scotland, you’ll see them, I promise.’
It was 11.15 p.m., and their train was still standing in King’s Cross station. They had left Yarmouth at 3 o’clock that afternoon, so it was little wonder that the boy was tired. Plus, he’d been up at six to wave goodbye to his father and mother, on their way to Aberdeen where his father had taken a job as an engineer with an oil company. As most of their belongings had gone on ahead of them, it was just the odds and sods which had been loaded into the boot and back seats of their Capri.
The two adults and baby Susan had taken up all the space in the front of the car, so Arthur had volunteered to take Sean by
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