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16 October 2014
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Helen Eccles
Helen Eccles

Helen is a retired librarian. She has one husband, two children and a Dachshund dog. Retirement has given Helen more time to walk her dog, which shows no more enthusiasm for this activity than she does. Helen also has more time for reading, writing, and visiting gardens. She enjoys being a member of a writing group and reading her work to various clubs and societies. She was runner-up in the Spring artsextra short story competition with her story The Man Who Looked Like Dylan Thomas.

Love on St Valentine's day by Helen Eccles
I was just about to say brightly, that St. Valentine鈥檚 day had come round again when I looked at the miserable morning face opposite, and realized that it was a lost cause. The card, with the red velvet heart and declaration of undying love, hidden under the breakfast table remained there. Quite obviously there was not going to be one for me. He looked at the clock, muttered something about being late, kissed the air in my direction, murmured lavish endearments to the cat, who ignored him, and raced to the front door.

So, I thought, right, that was it, was it? Ten years of marriage, and romance was dead. I considered the day stretching in front of me.
鈥淪hopping and housework, or,鈥 I told the cat. 鈥淚 have a choice, housework and shopping.鈥
Looking bored, she washed her face. I sat on day鈥揹reaming of another St. valentine鈥檚 day some years earlier. I was in the city library looking up something in the Gardening section when I dropped my glove. A man standing further along picked it up and gave it to me. I stared at him. He was different, unusual, tall and very good looking yes, but I decided that it was his eyes that had mesmerized me. They were like a tiger鈥檚, green, golden flecked with long eyelashes. I pulled myself together, and thanked him sensibly I hoped, and he gave me the most devastating smile, and told me I was welcome in a deep voice of pure black velvet.
鈥楪orgeous,鈥 I breathed to myself.

I watched him going out of the library into the street, and then I did something quite out of character - I followed him! He walked quite slowly along the main street looking at the shop windows. A young girl wearing the shortest of skirts came mincing along on very high heels, and he gave her a sideways glance. I slipped into the nearest doorway as he nearly caught sight of me. The girl gave him an appraising glance and a self conscious smile, flicking her hair back. I felt the growl growing from my shoes and exploding through the top of my head. He went into an expensive chocolate shop, and peeping through the window I saw the assistant lifting down a large box tied up with red ribbon. When he came out of the shop I followed, walking closely behind a very fat man who provided great cover until he suddenly stopped, and I fell up against him. Blushingly I apologized, and then realized that I had lost sight of my quarry. I was soon on the scent again however, and this time saw him going into a flower shop. I slipped in behind some tall floral displays, and watched him buying a basket of Spring flowers and writing a card. Just what I like, I thought longingly, so much nicer than red roses. I was curious to see what he had written and when he turned we nearly came face to face. However he seemed preoccupied, and didn鈥檛 really notice me as he left the shop, but I had seen the card, it bore the legend 鈥楾o my darling, my love always.鈥 Flowers, chocolates, and a really gorgeous man, 鈥 was there no end to the luck of some girls? It was so romantic and beautiful I nearly cried, and when the assistant asked me what I wanted I nearly shouted 鈥極h, him, please.鈥

As it was I mumbled something about changing my mind and left the shop feeling a fool.
When I came out he had quite disappeared. Well I鈥檒l never make a stalker or a private detective I decided, and walked along until I came to the well worn steps of a basement restaurant. It was still early so there were not many diners. A couple of stern business women scrutinising the menu like an office memo, and would obviously complain if something did not please them. Some young men talking earnestly into mobile phones, and a very elderly lady looking as if she had decided to try somewhere different for lunch, but had now decided that she had made a mistake. I was reading the menu which had a St. Valentine鈥檚 theme, when I heard a voice, the voice, saying would I mind sharing my table. It was the man with the sleepy tiger鈥檚 eyes. With an assumed show of nonchalance I was far from feeling I waved him to the seat opposite me. We looked at each other solemnly for what seemed a long time. A million years in a few seconds of time.

鈥淢y name is Paul Michael Henry,鈥 he said. 鈥淎nd yours?鈥
鈥淚 am Sylvia,鈥 I said.
鈥溾榃ho is Sylvia, what is she.鈥欌 He quoted, and smiled as if it was an old joke.
The old lady watching us with great interest, edged closer.
鈥淚 lost you after the flower shop,鈥 I said.
鈥 I was in the travel agents next door, I saw you looking round for me, and then I followed you until you came in here.鈥
He lifted my hand to his lips, and then with a flourish he set two tickets down in front of me. Two tickets to Rome!
鈥淩ome in the Spring,鈥 He said.
He stood up and I flew into his arms. We kissed and we laughed. It had been fun and we were happy. The old lady, enjoying it all, clapped her hands, but the business women gave us a hard stare, which made us laugh even more. Hand in hand we left the restaurant and with a wink he said 鈥淥ur place or our place.鈥 We couldn鈥檛 wait to get back home to our house, this house. I sighed, and began to clear the table. Under the plate at Paul鈥檚 side was a note.
鈥楽hall we do it all again? See you in the library - gardening section at eleven o鈥檆lock. I love you.鈥

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