The Storm by Maureen Wells

Last month’s exercise was to write about a storm.

                                                                                   THE STORM

My, My! Rosie recalled with a sigh. It must be over fifty years ago when she suffered what seemed like the biggest heartbreak of her young life. Yet it had started so well.

She’d met Stewart at the Regent ballroom in Brighton one Saturday and she hadn’t wanted the night to end. She felt like a princess as she danced in the blue dress her mother had only finished making that day. It was very full, emphasizing her tiny waist. Stewart was in the Navy and they’d soon made arrangements to meet in Portsmouth.

The following Saturday, to her dismay, the line to Portsmouth had to be closed due to a bad storm overnight. Branches and trees had fallen on the tracks and the trains were not running. Rosie was devastated.

No mobile phones in those days, her Mum and Dad didn’t even have a telephone. Rosie remembered the pain and panic she felt. The only thing she knew about her handsome sailor was his Christian name.

What, she’d often wondered, might have happened had they met?

#                      #                      #                  #                 #

Rosie came to with a start, realising after years of being married to a wonderful man and widowed only a few years ago, she was being given another chance. Should she take it?

“Mum,” her daughter had said, “That man Stewart you once told me about, wrote to a magazine trying to find you. Now don’t get cross but I’ve contacted him, he’s a widower  and he wants to meet you.”

At first Rosie had felt indignant and shocked at her daughter’s actions, refusing to discuss the subject. But her daughter persisted.

“Just turn up Mum, see what happens.”

“It was all so long ago. I married your Dad, I presumed Stewart married. We should let things be. Whatever would he think of me now anyway?”

“Mum, you look wonderful. You can meet him in town for  a cup of tea.”

In the end Rosie decided there was nothing else for it, she would go, even if it was only for her daughter’s sake. …….Or was it? And to-day was the day. She’d wear blue, still her favourite colour.

Chuckling to herself, she murmured, “A date at my age! What if he doesn’t turn up?”

#                      #                        #                  #                    #

Later that evening Rosie returned to her neat terraced house, feeling grateful her cat was there to welcome her.

“Still the two of us,” she said, putting the kettle on. Then, taking her tea into the lounge she paused. Picking up her wedding photograph from the sideboard, she said, “I’ve had a good life thanks to you – and nothing is going to change now.”

 The weather forecast was on the television. A storm was predicted. Care should be taken.

“Yes, indeed, storms are sent for a reason, although we don’t always realise at the time,” she said to herself, taking a deep breath before phoning her daughter.


About Rosemary Noble

Writer, author, amateur historian and traveller
This entry was posted in Exercise of the Month, Story and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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