Table 9
by Sara Clark
Genre: Romance
Swearwords: None.
Description: A woman reflects on her past, brought to life by the sights and sounds of the Café where she sits.
Swearwords: None.
Description: A woman reflects on her past, brought to life by the sights and sounds of the Café where she sits.
The last time she had sat down at this table, she had not been alone, and they were happy – Mary and Joanna, their faces newly painted with the rain, their memories fluttering about them like ribbons in the wind. Only moments before, caught in the ice of the wind’s embrace, they had shared their first kiss by the railings overlooking the river, and then tumbled, laughing, through the door of the café.
Mary did not realise then, how many times she would sit at this table, eyes closed, to watch once more the necklace tremble at the jewelled hollow of Joanna’s throat, the dark hair falling heavy against her neck, and try to find a way back in again.
The café was not much changed since then. Beyond the translucent curtains, the summer’s rosy veil had not yet fallen from the tawny ivory sky, and the low, leather sofa had been patched with a rich fabric. The world of her mind had altered more, and it was only today, staring at the books that lined the shelves, those endless dimensions racing away in sequences of light and shade, that she realised precisely what had been lost.
Ambushed by joy, they had huddled here with cups in hands, enchanted by the harmonic clatter of rain against the window, and smiled at each other through the encircling steam. It was as though, once they had kissed, that some silent enchantment had been cast upon them. Back then it had seemed that each would remember every word the other said forever, each sentence an unbreakable spell, each silence, a lifetime long.
Since then, a different kind of fairy-tale had swallowed Mary whole. A friend had become a husband, children had soared like shooting stars into their lives, and a beautiful cottage had opened itself out around them, obscuring all their secrets from the world. The twist of colour at the centre of her heart had also been obscured, blurring within the worn marble of her body as she careered from her life’s brightest summit to the darkness of its base, but now, sitting here, those still colours were clear to her in all their intricacy again, encircling the shrouded image of Joanna which lingered in the steam, passing through the coffee’s scent, to touch her, palm to palm, as she held the warm cup close.
She was lost. Oh, she was lost! But it didn’t matter. As long as nobody ever guessed what it meant, when she sat here, and drank, and closed her eyes, she could still be happy. For here, they would always be together.
Mary did not realise then, how many times she would sit at this table, eyes closed, to watch once more the necklace tremble at the jewelled hollow of Joanna’s throat, the dark hair falling heavy against her neck, and try to find a way back in again.
The café was not much changed since then. Beyond the translucent curtains, the summer’s rosy veil had not yet fallen from the tawny ivory sky, and the low, leather sofa had been patched with a rich fabric. The world of her mind had altered more, and it was only today, staring at the books that lined the shelves, those endless dimensions racing away in sequences of light and shade, that she realised precisely what had been lost.
Ambushed by joy, they had huddled here with cups in hands, enchanted by the harmonic clatter of rain against the window, and smiled at each other through the encircling steam. It was as though, once they had kissed, that some silent enchantment had been cast upon them. Back then it had seemed that each would remember every word the other said forever, each sentence an unbreakable spell, each silence, a lifetime long.
Since then, a different kind of fairy-tale had swallowed Mary whole. A friend had become a husband, children had soared like shooting stars into their lives, and a beautiful cottage had opened itself out around them, obscuring all their secrets from the world. The twist of colour at the centre of her heart had also been obscured, blurring within the worn marble of her body as she careered from her life’s brightest summit to the darkness of its base, but now, sitting here, those still colours were clear to her in all their intricacy again, encircling the shrouded image of Joanna which lingered in the steam, passing through the coffee’s scent, to touch her, palm to palm, as she held the warm cup close.
She was lost. Oh, she was lost! But it didn’t matter. As long as nobody ever guessed what it meant, when she sat here, and drank, and closed her eyes, she could still be happy. For here, they would always be together.
About the Author
Sara Clark is a writer and editor living in the Scottish Borders. Her first two books, Summer's Lease and How to Destroy, are available to buy from Amazon. She is currently seeking a publisher for her second novel.