This is a work in progress, but I thought I’d put it up here to see if anyone has any comments:

The Photograph

It didn’t matter how many times she’d dusted it over the years, she still took a few seconds to study his face every time she picked up the frame. It held a special place in her heart.

‘You like that photo better than me.’

‘Well, you were so much better looking back then,’ she would say, teasing him, safe in the knowledge that he didn’t believe her, and even if he did he would still be there the next day, faithful as a puppy and as reliable as German car.

She picked it up and turned round. ‘It only seems like yesterday, you with your suit on and me in my new dress. We looked a lovely couple, didn’t we?’

‘You’re looking lovely tonight, madam. Take your photo, sir?’

‘No, I don’t think so, thank you.’

‘Oh go on, Ron. Let’s have our picture taken. It’ll be fun.’

‘All right, then.’ Even back then he didn’t need much persuading.

Jean was so excited, she’d been smiling all evening anyway; Ron took a little more encouragement.

‘That’s great. Come on then sir, smile. More than that, sir. That’s better.’

‘I can’t believe I’ve just paid over six shillings to a man I’ve never met before,’ he muttered as they went on their way. ‘That’s the last we’ll ever see of him and his photos.’

‘Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ She slipped her arm through his and gave it a sqeeze. ‘Come on, I can’t wait to get dancing.’

Before the dance, though, there was the small business of eating. Ron had booked a table in a restaurant near the dance room, nothing fancy but good enough for what they wanted, with portions that meant they would still be able to glide around the floor all evening.

The restaurant was busy, with most of the tables already taken by other couples, presumably all on their way to the same place as Ron and Jean, or maybe the cinema. The Third Man was showing at the Regal, and Jean had been undecided as to whether they should see that or go dancing.

Ron had made the decision. ‘I don’t want to be sitting in a smoky cinema on a lovely evening. We’re going dancing.’

Although he was easily persuaded at times, he could still be forceful when needed. Jean had always loved that about him.

The waiter showed them to a table and left them with the menu. Jean had a quick look, then put hers down and said, ‘Oh, I don’t know what to have; can you order for me?’ Ron didn’t take long to decide, and the same thing for both of them; cream of tomato soup with bread and butter, followed by fish and chips.

‘I can’t believe it’s the last dance already,’ she said as the band started playing for the final time of the evening.

‘It has been a fabulous evening, hasn’t it?’

‘Wonderful, spoiled only by the aching in my feet. As much as I would love the night to go on forever, I can’t wait to get these shoes off and put my feet up for a while.’

They didn’t say anything more; Ron led her round the dance floor as effortlessly as he had for their first dance a couple of hours earlier. Jean held onto him as closely as she felt she could without causing anyone to gossip, until the band stopped playing and the applause had ended.

‘If we go now,’ he said, looking at his watch, ‘you should be able to catch the last bus. Come on, you don’t want to have to walk home in those shoes.’ He took her hand and lead the way out of the dance hall, striding out just a little bit too quickly for Jean.

‘Slow down a little, will you Ron?’ she said as she ran to keep up.

‘OK, but we don’t want to miss it.’

Jean knew he was right, but this wasn’t the end to the evening she had anticipated. A gentle stroll through the park, with a full moon to light the way, and a sky full of stars to gaze at was how she had pictured it, but she knew he was right; walking home would not be a good thing.

‘Two to Lloyd Park, please.’

Two? She had wondered if he would see her home, but she hadn’t been sure.

Now she knew.

‘Don’t you need to get your own bus?’ she asked, thinking she should show some consideration for him, even though she had no desire to make the journey home on her own.

‘I can walk from your house. It’s not far.’

She didn’t know exactly where he lived, but she knew it was at least a couple of miles from her parent’s house. It would take him nearly an hour, but if he was happy to see her home, who was she to argue?

All the time the children had been growing up the photo had stood on the mantelpiece, on the left facing towards the end of the sofa where Jean always sat. Now it stood on the table next to the sofa, amongst other photos, and curios she’d collected over the years, and every Wednesday when she did her dusting she wondered why she’d bothered.

‘Maybe I should just box them up and give them to a charity shop,’ she’d say to her son when he visited, and every time he’d say, ‘You’ll do no such thing. If you don’t want them, I’ll take them away for you.’ He never said what he was going to do with them; never said anything about them being special. She could never be sure if wanted them to keep as a reminder of growing up, or if he was going to sell them. He was always telling her about things he’d sold on the internet, not that she understood how he did it. She’d never been on a computer, let alone ‘browsed the web’ as she believed it was called.

She didn’t really want to give them to charity; she wanted to hear that they meant something to someone else other than her. Next time Sally came to visit, she’d see what she felt about them.

With her weekly housework finished, a cup of tea and a sit down were in order. And a nice cheese and tomato sandwich. Or as nice as it could be with five day old bread. There were a couple of blue spots around the edges, but they were easily scraped off.

‘I’m not going to go to the shop just for a loaf of bread. A bit of mould never hurt anyone.’ She took the bottle of milk out of the fridge and gave it a sniff; still OK, for today at least.

With her lightly toasted sandwich and slightly too milky tea – these days her hands shook at the most inopportune moments – she carefully went through to the lounge and sat on her usual spot.

As she put her feet up on her foot stall, she realised the TV remote was over the other side of the room, next to the television. She wasn’t going to get back up again having eased herself down, so instead she took a sip of tea, a bite of sandwich, and settled down for a chat with Ron.

‘We’ve had some good times, haven’t we? This house has seen some things. Keith still comes when he can, but Sally never seems to have the time any more. It would be lovely to see the grandchildren every now and then, but she lives so far away, or so she says. I’m sure it only took an hour for her to drive before, but now she says it’s two. And when she does come, she only stays for a couple of hours.

‘It was lovely at church this morning. We’ll have to see if you can come along next week.  Not that I believe in it all really, but it’s nice to get out of the house on a Sunday. The tea’s too strong afterwards, and they only ever seem to have digestives, but at least I get to talk to some nice people. You never know, maybe one day one of them will invite me round for lunch. That would be lovely. We haven’t had a roast dinner for a long time now, have we Ron?’

‘Keith, can you let Dad know dinner will be ready in five minutes? Then you and Sally had better come in and wash your hands.’

Jean had been in the kitchen all morning, first cooking bacon and eggs for the others, and then getting the Sunday lunch ready. She’d managed to get a nice leg of lamb from the butcher’s yesterday, just before they closed. Ron’s potatoes, green beans and carrots from the garden were all ready, each in their own serving dish with a lid on. The lamb had been resting for about a quarter of an hour, and was now ready for Ron to work his magic with the carving knife.

‘Come on then, you two, let’s get those hands washed.’

‘That lamb looks lovely,’ Ron said as he walked through the kitchen door.

‘Well, it’s not going to carve itself,’ Jean replied as she put the apple pie in the oven. Like the vegetables, the apples had also come from the garden.

‘Mum, Sally’s hogging the soap.’

‘No I’m not. I’ve just got very dirty hands.’

‘OK, Keith, I’m sure she won’t be long. Hurry up, Sally, lunch will be cold by the time you’re ready.’

She took off her apron and leant against the back door frame, watching the three of them, Ron sharpening his knife, and Keith and Sally bickering over the soap, and tried to remember when Keith had ever taken so long to wash his hands. Until recently, he would have just wet them a little and then rubbed all the dirt off on the towel. Was he maturing? Or was he trying to get his sister into trouble?

She knew the answer to that one.

The kettle switched off, and Jean poured the water onto her hot chocolate powder.

‘These instant drinks are so much easier nowadays, aren’t they Ron? All that effort of boiling the milk, adding sugar and then worrying about the skin on top. Still, you used to love the way I made it, didn’t you? Not too much sugar, that was how you liked it. And always with a digestive biscuit. I remember the first time I bought chocolate digestives, not long after we’d got married. I think I got to eat one, and you ate the rest. Not that I minded.

‘I wonder if we’ve got any biscuits now?’ She shuffled over to the larder and picked up the Peek Freans tin she’d had since Christmas 1961, and had been in constant use for the past fifty years. It wasn’t the best tin for her to use now, as the lid was always difficult to remove, and with her arthritis it seemed to get harder every time.

But the weight, and the noise it made when the lid came off were enough for her to go through the pain and see what sweet delights lay inside.

‘Ooh, lovely, Rich Tea. A drink’s too wet without one, isn’t that what they used to say? Although you’re not so keen, are you Ron? It was always me and Keith that liked these. What was it Sally liked? Custard Creams? I think so. Maybe I’ll get some the next time I go shopping. That might make her want to come and see us.’

Her usual routine was to make a hot drink just before 10 o’clock, sit in the lounge and watch the news, then go up to bed to read for a bit before settling down at around 11. It hadn’t changed since the children had left home thirty years ago.

‘I think I’m too tired tonight, Ron. I think I’ll take my drink up to bed. How about you come with me?’

She got a small tray out from the larder, put her mug and three biscuits on it, and carefully picked it up. ‘Ooh, mustn’t forget you, must I Ron? I’ll just take the tray up, and then come back for you. We can have a nice cuddle before sleep. I might even let you have a bite of my biscuit, if you’re good.’

‘Sally, it’s Keith. I’m at Mum’s. I had to let myself in, as she wasn’t answering the door or her phone. She’s dead, Sally.’

Keith had found his mum propped up in bed, with a half-drunk mug of hot chocolate on the bedside table, and on her chest a few biscuit crumbs and a picture frame.

‘You remember that old photo of her and Dad that she loved so much? The one they had taken just after they met? It was lying face down on her chest. I guess she must have been talking to him before she went.

‘Anyway, I’m waiting for the doctor to arrive. Will you be able to come down? Well, I could do with a little help, and maybe a hug. No, it’s OK, I understand. A tennis club committee meeting is so much more important. I’ll see you at the funeral.’

He ended the call and threw his phone on the sofa, hoping as he did so that it didn’t bounce off onto the floor and break. His sister could be so heartless at times.

Hopefully the doctor would be there soon. In preparation he went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on, and saw the biscuit tin, with the lid not quite on properly.

Of all the trinkets and valuables Mum had collected over the years, most of which he had no interest in, none had as special place in his memory as that tin. It was getting home from school, it was Saturday mornings after playing football, it was Sunday afternoon between lunch and tea.

It was childhood.

He didn’t care if his sister got everything else, she wasn’t going to get that.

He made sure the lid was on tight, and walked outside.

‘Hello Doctor. That was good timing; I was just putting something in the car. Come in, she’s upstairs in bed.’