ONE LAST CRAFT

A short story by Rebecca Anderson

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I can't believe this is the tenth anniversary of our crafty caravan holidays. Are we really that old?' said Zoe, crochet hook in one hand, yarn in the other. Every March, without fail, they'd come to this caravan park in the New Forest to celebrate their friendship and do their absolute favourite thing: crafting.

Zoe appreciated that no one had mentioned this would be their last. She just wanted to enjoy it, to be in the present and not think too much about the future. Still, sadness threatened.

'Thirty-one is not old,' Jaz said with such force the strawberry-blonde curls of her fringe bounced.

'Age is relative.' Mira shrugged, eyes fixed on the neat rows forming beneath her fingers. Of course she was a natural, despite never having crocheted in her life.

'That's very profound.' A fond laugh slipped out before Zoe could stop it. Typical Mira, ever the philosopher.

'Tea time.' Jaz stood and made her way to the kettle. 'I don't know about you two, but I'm the happiest I've ever been, despite also being my fattest and ugliest. I hit thirty and just stopped giving a damn about what people thought about me.'

'You aren't fat or ugly!' Zoe objected, although she admired the sentiment. As much as she tried not to care about the judgment of others, it was easier said than done. She'd got to the point where she could leave the house without makeup for small errands, but did have the urge to duck behind a tree if she ever saw anyone from school or an old acquaintance.

'I'm not quite there yet.'

Jaz placed mugs of tea in front of Zoe and Mira and stood back against the sink. 'It's funny how things change over time. Sounds like an obvious thing to say, but it's easy to miss when you're in it. Do you remember the first time we came here, we were all panicking about finding a proper job?'