Learning TO FLY

Was it time for Vicky to take a risk and spread her wings?

- Gabrielle Mullarkey

Vicky went to her favourite cafe to have a think about her last conversation with Sean. Well, that had been the idea, anyway.

She was still blowing steam off her caramel latte when a couple of young women came in to take the weight off and sat down at a nearby table.

Vicky wasn't usually one to earwig private conversations. Besides, she was deeply preoccupied, sneaking glances at her watch while her thoughts skittered about in her brain.

However, it was impossible not to overhear the two on the next table. They were so loud. Wasn't everyone though, nowadays (as she'd observed to Sean)? People were always on speakerphone in the quiet carriage of the train or shouting in a GP's waiting room, 'Still waiting for my toe to be seen, so get me skinny fries if you're going out, not crinkle-cut or curly!'

You know, real life-or-death stuff.

Sean always kept a straight, sympathetic face when she had her say, until she'd sigh and murmur, 'Ignore me. I'm just an old fogey, I suppose.'

He'd once written her a poem on the back of a till receipt after she'd had a moment in the supermarket with an unexpected item in the bagging area. 'Let us be old fogeys together, you and I,' he'd written. 'And frolic in the quiet carriage. But not too loudly.'

He did make her laugh. Oh, Sean... She glanced again at her watch and bit her lip.

'C'mon, let's have a butcher's, Rosie!' said one young woman to the other. 'Did you go for lilac or peach in the end?'

'Neither, Jules. Prepare to be surprised.' Rosie, young woman number two, rustled in a bag at her feet and plonked a satiny slipper on her friend's lap. 'Ta-da! Ice blue, to match my posy. Have a feel.'

'Ooh!' enthused Jules, picking up the slipper. 'Even the lining's silk. Nice one.'

'Main thing is, these shoes go with my dress and tiara,' grinned Rosie, surely a bride-to-be.

'While counting as your something blue,' observed Jules.