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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Love / Romance / Dating
- Published: 06/20/2021
Greenwich, London
Born 1948, F, from Epping. Essex, United Kingdom.jpeg)
Greenwich, London
Lacey walked across the dusty, dried out grass of Greenwich Park. In the distance the Thames glimmered, and she noticed a cruise ship had anchored looking like a floating hotel. Late afternoon sunshine began to cool everything down, and she knew it was time to go home.
Sitting down on a bench, she looked across to the old palace. Much of it now housed Greenwich university. Ten months ago she was completing the last year of her Creative Writing degree. In that time her life had changed from one of quiet study to one of exhilaration and excitement, but now she needed to go home and face real life.
Lacey headed home, not to the posh bit where the city boys were taking over but the tiny bit that had survived ‘re- development’. Once outside her flat she paused. because she guessed the letter would arrive today and she wasn’t ready for it. She could not bear the thought of going in and picking it off the door mat. Instead of unlocking the front door, she turned and wandered down a nearby slipway which the rowing club used and looked at the river. Close up the water looked oily and smooth with hardly a ripple. Totally unlike Lacey’s life.
‘What do I want?’ she thought, ‘apart from a big car, a big dog and a big house. In that order’.
She thought the car would be a Bentley Convertible, the dog a Rottweiler, that could bite Jack, and the house would be in one of the streets bordering the park. Large, Georgian, and gorgeous. She smiled at her thoughts, and the fact that she could joke with herself when she was so afraid of what would be waiting for her at home.
No matter what waited for her, she knew that the creative writing course had been just right for her. Her imagination had always been able to run riot, and she felt she could make a living from her writing.
Turning her back on the river, Lacey walked back up the slipway and walked home. She knew she had to face up to things.
Up the stairs, key in the lock, push open the door. The letter, with its US stamp and Boston postmark, lay on the mat. Lacey picked it up and went to the window seat. Slowly she undid the envelope seeing the familiar handwriting which stabbed at her heart.
Dear Lacey,
As promised, a letter telling you of my decision. Does this sound formal? Of course, it does. But it is the only way I can stick to the decision and hold myself together.
Do you remember how we said ‘no email or text’ to announce my decision?
Does that still sound right to you now?
I wonder.
Well, darling girl, I’m not coming back. My research is complete, and I will publish a paper in December. As I write I can imagine you walking through the park, with the Thames in view, and my heart aches.
It must be coming into Autumn, or Fall, as we would say over here. How beautiful it must be.
The last ten months have been fantastic. But now I’m home I realise that nothing was real. As soon as I got home and turned the key in the front door, I knew. Here is real with Mia and the kids. But, oh how I miss you.
Darling girl, I’m a man of 54, you are just 22. It could not have worked, but you gave me such happiness. I really lived in those ten months. You made me feel young again, but that was just an illusion.
In truth I’m now a middle-aged man who can admit that for much of our time together I was plain exhausted. Exhilarated but exhausted!
So Lacey, let’s not drag this out. Be happy, be successful, as I know you will.
I will never forget you or our time together.
Yours, ever, Jack.
Ps. You were born to write. Never give it up.
Lacey read through the letter, once very fast, and then once very slowly, taking in each word.
She sat for a while and then to try and ease the aching pain she sat down at her computer and began typing:
‘Chapter 1:
‘The pain she felt on reading the letter hurt her heart…not a shattering pain but a dull ache that she knew would last for a long time. It felt like the worst kind of bruise. The sort of bruise that developed massively over a period of time, but then slowly, slowly faded. She knew then that she would recover’.
As Lacey wrote, the tears dripped down her face and blurred the words.
‘At least he’s left me with something to write about’ she thought.
Greenwich, London(Kristin Dockar)
Greenwich, London
Lacey walked across the dusty, dried out grass of Greenwich Park. In the distance the Thames glimmered, and she noticed a cruise ship had anchored looking like a floating hotel. Late afternoon sunshine began to cool everything down, and she knew it was time to go home.
Sitting down on a bench, she looked across to the old palace. Much of it now housed Greenwich university. Ten months ago she was completing the last year of her Creative Writing degree. In that time her life had changed from one of quiet study to one of exhilaration and excitement, but now she needed to go home and face real life.
Lacey headed home, not to the posh bit where the city boys were taking over but the tiny bit that had survived ‘re- development’. Once outside her flat she paused. because she guessed the letter would arrive today and she wasn’t ready for it. She could not bear the thought of going in and picking it off the door mat. Instead of unlocking the front door, she turned and wandered down a nearby slipway which the rowing club used and looked at the river. Close up the water looked oily and smooth with hardly a ripple. Totally unlike Lacey’s life.
‘What do I want?’ she thought, ‘apart from a big car, a big dog and a big house. In that order’.
She thought the car would be a Bentley Convertible, the dog a Rottweiler, that could bite Jack, and the house would be in one of the streets bordering the park. Large, Georgian, and gorgeous. She smiled at her thoughts, and the fact that she could joke with herself when she was so afraid of what would be waiting for her at home.
No matter what waited for her, she knew that the creative writing course had been just right for her. Her imagination had always been able to run riot, and she felt she could make a living from her writing.
Turning her back on the river, Lacey walked back up the slipway and walked home. She knew she had to face up to things.
Up the stairs, key in the lock, push open the door. The letter, with its US stamp and Boston postmark, lay on the mat. Lacey picked it up and went to the window seat. Slowly she undid the envelope seeing the familiar handwriting which stabbed at her heart.
Dear Lacey,
As promised, a letter telling you of my decision. Does this sound formal? Of course, it does. But it is the only way I can stick to the decision and hold myself together.
Do you remember how we said ‘no email or text’ to announce my decision?
Does that still sound right to you now?
I wonder.
Well, darling girl, I’m not coming back. My research is complete, and I will publish a paper in December. As I write I can imagine you walking through the park, with the Thames in view, and my heart aches.
It must be coming into Autumn, or Fall, as we would say over here. How beautiful it must be.
The last ten months have been fantastic. But now I’m home I realise that nothing was real. As soon as I got home and turned the key in the front door, I knew. Here is real with Mia and the kids. But, oh how I miss you.
Darling girl, I’m a man of 54, you are just 22. It could not have worked, but you gave me such happiness. I really lived in those ten months. You made me feel young again, but that was just an illusion.
In truth I’m now a middle-aged man who can admit that for much of our time together I was plain exhausted. Exhilarated but exhausted!
So Lacey, let’s not drag this out. Be happy, be successful, as I know you will.
I will never forget you or our time together.
Yours, ever, Jack.
Ps. You were born to write. Never give it up.
Lacey read through the letter, once very fast, and then once very slowly, taking in each word.
She sat for a while and then to try and ease the aching pain she sat down at her computer and began typing:
‘Chapter 1:
‘The pain she felt on reading the letter hurt her heart…not a shattering pain but a dull ache that she knew would last for a long time. It felt like the worst kind of bruise. The sort of bruise that developed massively over a period of time, but then slowly, slowly faded. She knew then that she would recover’.
As Lacey wrote, the tears dripped down her face and blurred the words.
‘At least he’s left me with something to write about’ she thought.
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Hem Bhandari
06/30/2021Nice one Kristine....... Only infatuation during togtherness.
Hem Bhandari
Help Us Understand What's Happening
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Help Us Understand What's Happening
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JD
06/20/2021Sounds like a good time was had by all... no commitment... just an affair that provided some fun while it lasted, for both of them, and then back to reality, better for the experience. Plus... she found her inspiration! Nice! Another great short. Thanks, Kristin! : )
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
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Help Us Understand What's Happening
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Help Us Understand What's Happening
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Kristin Dockar
06/21/2021Happy you enjoyed it. Pre pandemic, i went to Greenwich a lot. It's great for people watching and I saw this girl reading a letter and crying and off I went!!
COMMENTS (2)