Wedding Planning at Creaksea - short story

The yellow light from the stained glass window dyed her pure as a sunbeam. “Always feel like licking these, look just like lollypops.” She said, then turned and feigned throwing her bouquet from the balcony. George ran his finger over the blade of a sword attached to the wall. He jumped as though it had stung him. “It’s still sharp.” He put his finger to his lips and sucked on the blood.

“We’ll have lots of flowers, red and white.” “Can’t have red and white.” He was irritable now with the heat on his face and the throb from his finger and she hadn’t noticed his pain. “Course we can. Red for love and the white matches my dress. It will look beautiful, flowers coming down the stairs entwined around the banisters.” Her voice drifted in from another room. He followed her, stood at the door, “Red and white are bad luck. My mother wouldn’t have them in the house.” He shook his hand and put it in his pocket.

“This is just perfect.” She put her hands to her chest and turned slowly on her heels. The light soaked her like water, she looked transparent, ethereal and his heart thudded loudly. She closed her eyes and swayed, hummed one of their favourite songs. A faint smile as she heard him coming over, she fell against him as he encircled her waist and took her hand. Her soft hair tickled his face, he breathed in her face cream and perfume, watched the sparkle of her rouge as she turned.

He gently pressed the fleshy part of her palm as he had way back then, when he’d first met her parents. Her hands clasping and unclasping behind her, his hat in his hand he’d reached round and gently pressed and she’d exhaled as though this was all she needed. They’d sat down to tea and scones if he remembered correctly, he wanted to dab away the perspiration on the top of her lip. She’d brushed crumbs from the lapel of his good suit. Still had it somewhere, too tight now, for the wedding.

“Yes we should definitely book this place.” She pulled away and he was suddenly exposed as gums after a freshly pulled tooth. Frightened he wanted to pull her back but she was gone. A noise uncurled from his throat like waxed kite string and he jumped as someone said, “Can I help you sir?” then took him by the elbow as if to steady him. “Sorry. Yes. My wife.” “There’s blood sir.” The lad pointed at his finger, “We’d better get this cleaned up.”

He leant against the cold enamel, as the water ran and his finger, suddenly numb, was held gently under the tap. “My wife, she’ll be worried.” He said as the boy dabbed the cut with a paper towel. “You’d best go to the hospital, get this stitched I suppose.” His clenched fist came down hard on the sink, “My wife! I must find her.” “Your wife sir?” The boy dropped his hand. George wondered if he was a half wit. “Yes. My wife. My wife! She was with me out there!” Blood splashed on the tiles. “But you were alone.” Said the boy. “There’s no one else here.”

Copyright. K B Morris All Rights Reserved.