It came as a revelation, a bolt out of the blue, as her mother used to say. Dusting her trinkets one morning she realised it was all tat. Why not get rid of it all. Save her children having to sort it when she was dead.
She smashed the
figurines against the garage wall. She buried her gold jewellery underneath the
lilac tree and her silver pieces beside the fish pond. Let her children hunt
for them. It might be fun to leave clues like the Easter egg hunts of the old
Maybe it wouldn’t be found for hundreds of years and classed as treasure trove. She found herself smiling for the first time in ages. She hoped someone worthy would dig it up. That eliminated her own children. High powered jobs, grandchildren and basic laziness put paid to their visits. The occasional phone call from one of her daughters seemed to suffice, like a smoke signal telling the rest of the family that she was still alive and kicking.
She wondered how they would react when her will was read out. She’d left the house to the girl who had run off with her husband. That skinny little girl with the big breasts, doe like eyes and amazing job in publishing. Tamara had done her a great favour, had spared her the task of ending her days with the most boring, selfish, inconsiderate man ever. Her children had all approved of their father’s choice and were great friends with Tamara. She was sure they’d applaud her decision.
Pulling the tickets out of the envelope she read them over and over again. A round the world cruise for two. She was so pleased when Anthony agreed to go with her. He was the young man from the bookshop with the foppish hair. They’d spent time together discussing the places that he’d love to visit. He’d be travelling solo when the cruise was over but what fun she’ll have till then.
Amazed at how much money could be released on the current value of a house, she hoped by the time Tamara got her home it wouldn’t be in negative equity.
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My flash fiction published in the anthology Connections http://t.co/iZBxAWwH