The
First Date
Elaine had been dating Terence for two years online
before she met him in person. When she’d filled in her profile, egged on by her
new neighbour, she’d never expected to get any responses. Terence sent her a
message within a week and she had fallen for his sense of humour and vibrancy.
He had also seemed extremely kind and not to mention good-looking. At her age
she couldn’t believe her luck.
“Darling,” he reached out for her with pudgy sweaty
fingers. “So pleased to finally touch your hands.” He beamed at her. “To clasp
them within my own.”
She reached out for him too and felt the warm metal of
his pinky ring. God, I hate jewellery on
men! she thought. “Yes, finally,” she squeezed out. “I didn’t know you wore
a ring.”
“Family heirloom,” he said proudly.
He had driven down from Glasgow and she up from
Winchester. He took her to the table he had reserved for their first meeting.
It was a small Italian restaurant which had, no doubt, been recommended by the
hotel owners. They were staying in the same hotel, but separate rooms. That
much she’d insisted on, despite his claim that they knew each other so
intimately already.
The table was set with a crisp white tablecloth and a
single red rose in a ceramic flute vase. She ordered lasagne and he carbonara.
She couldn’t stop staring at his chubby fingers trying to wield his cutlery,
holding his wine glass, and finally wiping his mouth with the white linen
napkin. He’d slurped his pasta and had left a drip of cheese sauce on his chin
for the longest time.
Over coffee, “decaf for you my dear,” he chuckled, he
told her about his plans to expand his business. After twenty minutes she
barely stifled a yawn and said, “I think I might head back if that’s ok with
you?”
“Of course, of course,” he said jubilantly. He signalled
in the air at the waiter for the bill. “Can’t wait any longer, eh?” he said
winking at her. “Know what you mean.”
“Actually, Terence, I don’t think this is going to work
out.” She fingered the edge of the tablecloth, keeping her eyes firmly trained
downwards.
“You what?” he hissed. “After all this time? Elaine, look
at me!”
She raised her eyes to meet his and whispered that she
was sorry.
L. Besley
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Flash Fiction is short enough to read whilst you're waiting for the kettle to boil. It's fairly quick to write too, but with it being so short, every word has to count.
On 4th May 2012 I decided to embark on a project: to write a piece of Flash Fiction every day. I'm hoping this will keep the creative juices flowing and ultimately help me hone my craft. Every Friday I'll be posting 'the best of the week' onto my blog for you to read. If you have anything to say (good or 'constructive'!), I'm open to comments.
Thanks, as always, for reading.
