by Roger Noons
a cup of Yorkshire tea
‘I thought you were sitting in the garden?’ Melanie said, as she walked
into the lounge.
‘I was, but I can’t hear the cricket because of those bloody
bells.’
‘It’ll be a wedding.’
‘I know that, but it stops me listening to TMS.’
‘It was your idea to buy a house near the church. No nuisance there,
you said. “Folks in the cemetery are always quiet.” You were dead
keen.’
‘I thought less people were marrying in church these
days?’
‘That was the case for a while, but it seems to be changing back
according to Woman’s Hour.’
‘See, you get to listen to that.’
‘Ten ’til eleven on a weekday, Gerry. Not many weddings at that time.
Anyway, sit in the conservatory, or watch it on TV.’
‘Too hot in there and it’s not on BBC, it’s Sky.’
‘I hesitate to tell you, but we’ve just had an invitation to your
Brian’s wedding. In June next year.’
‘Bet he’s not getting wed in church.’
‘He is actually, a small church in Corfu.’
‘Is she Greek?’
‘No, she’s from London but they first met on the
Island.’
‘Should be good then?’
‘Nice time of year to go there.’
‘Long time since we were in Glyfada. It was nice, I enjoyed
it.’
‘We can revisit if we make a holiday out of it?’
‘Yes, let’s do that.
Mel kissed her husband on top of his head, ruffled his hair. ‘I’ll go
and make some tea.’
When she returned, he stood up. ‘The bells have stopped, I’ll take
mine outside.’
‘It was just on the wireless, England lost by forty four runs. The
series is drawn.’
‘Quiet, isn’t it,’ he mused.
About the author
Roger Noons specialises in writing flash fiction and is a
regular contributor to Café Lit. His Slimline Tales was published by
Chapeltown Books in2018
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