Lara grabbed the hairbrush and whacked the transistor radio in fury as the week’s number one blasted out. Fighting the urge to flip the bird, she placed a hand on each side of the box and leaned in.
‘Stand by my bloody man?’ she yelled over the music. ‘Tammy. Honey.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Seriously?’ With a flick of her wrist, the music died.
The clock chimed ten. Good enough, she thought, pouring herself another drink. Knocking it back she resumed surveillance. Twenty minutes later a red van drew up. The postman jumped out. Clutching a heavy looking pouch over his shoulder he disappeared into the building.
Grabbing for her platforms she knocked over her glass of Babycham. The sparkling liquid pooled onto the carpet. Lara frowned. The mess didn’t bother her; the pink shag pile looked none the worse for it. It was the waste of good fizz that rankled. She shrugged it off as she remembered there was more cooling in the fridge.
Lara’s feet slapped on the concrete as she made her way down. By the time she reached the communal mailbox area she was breathless.
Hand shaking, she turned the key. The door swung open. Lara stared in disbelief. It was empty. There was no letter. No Decree Absolute. Not even the usual marketing bumph. Slamming the door hard she pressed her forehead against the cold metal cursing her naivety: the solicitor had sworn it would be with her today.
‘Looking for something?’ a familiar voice asked.
Lara swung round to find her estranged husband standing in the doorway wafting a large brown envelope in the air. Her sharp eyes took in the good suit - his best - and smartly trimmed beard. Jon looked good and he knew it. That had always been the problem. Old hurts and anger soared to the surface.
‘What are you doing here?’ she fumed. ‘Have you forgotten what today is?’
He smirked. Maintaining eye contact, Jon shoved the envelope between his knees and dug inside his breast pocket. With a flourish of his hand, he presented a red velvet ring box.
Lara’s jaw dropped. They stared at one another and, for a moment, she imagined their future was before them, and not behind them.
A car horn ripped through the silence. Jon shoved the box back into his pocket.
‘Sorry,’ he said, not looking the least contrite. ‘I came by to catch the postman. My Decree Absolute didn't arrive today, and I figured yours might have. I need this,’ he said, waving the envelope. ‘I’m getting married this afternoon.’
Lara’s face twisted in confusion. Uncertain, Jon backed away, hastily shoving the envelope behind his back.
‘No hard feelings, eh?’ he called as he bolted for the waiting cab.
Lara watched until the car disappeared out of sight. That’s it, she thought. It’s over. She grinned. She was free. There was no looking back now. Her spirit soared.
Taking the stairs, she laughed as she found herself humming Tammy’s other big hit: ‘D-I-V-O-R-C-E’ under her breath.
About the Author
Anne Marie is from Scotland. She can almost see Loch Lomond on a clear day. Anne Marie is published in the Oxford Flash Fiction Prize anthology, 101 words and long listed in the Mslexia Flash Fiction Competition. She was a reader for the Edinburgh Flash Fiction Award 2025.
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