Kiss me quick
Attracta Stonehurst was dead. She’d been laid to rest a few weeks now. Just fifty six days earlier she was the most vivacious woman Edward had ever seen. Her dark brown, almost black hair was coiffed in a style popularised in the 1960s. A sort of bouffant tucked in at the back using a system of Kirby grips, which she always bought at the chemist. Her eyes were decorated with false lashes, and she liked to rim her lips and then fill them in with a paler colour creating a pout.
They’d met at a dinner dance held on behalf of the local cancer hospice at a rather grand hotel in the town. The Victorian ballroom had been set out with round tables around the parameter, draped in starched, white cloths and the chairs had those elaborate covers with bows on that she’d often seen at the more upmarket weddings she’d been to. There were wine glasses and place cards.
She’d been there in her capacity as fundraising manager for the hospice and Edward was there in his capacity as a local businessman who’d once donated a significant amount of money and now, she hoped, would do so again. Attracta had never met him, but she had on occasion spotted his name on the mailing lists she used.
She sat next to him. He smelt of Givenchy. His navy suit fitted him well and he either used a sunbed or had been on holiday somewhere hot recently. It was the end of November, so they were the only logical explanations. He had a good head of hair too, which was silver, almost white, making his face look even browner than perhaps it was.
Attracta had never married. She had led a happy and fulfilled life and had been working at the hospice for the last twenty years. She had a nice little house in the suburbs. A cat called Shere Khan and a run-around that she only used at weekends to go further afield or do her shopping.
In the week, she would get the number 27 into town and would sit at her desk along with several of her colleagues. They would use the canteen at lunch, but Attracta brought her own. Cup-a-soup, Ryvita, an apple and a Penguin biscuit. Sometimes she would have cottage cheese. She looked after her figure.
On a Thursday she’d walk around the market looking for jewellery or pots or something pretty to catch her eye. On a Friday she’d sometimes meet her friend June in the Marks and Spencer’s café and they’d have tea and scones. She had a couple of close friends. They’d meet for meals, go to see concerts in the city and even occasionally go away together, but that was becoming less frequent. Particularly as Shere Khan was getting older and she didn’t like using catteries.
Attracta was quite happy visiting the garden centre and pottering in her greenhouse at the weekends. She had started to think about retirement, but being on her own she wasn’t keen to go too soon, and her fifty eighth birthday had not long passed. She’d spent it with Mummy up in Lytham St Anne’s. She’d taken her out for the day, and they’d walked along the front and had afternoon tea in one of the old-fashioned café’s that Mummy liked. She’d bought a batwing blouse in a little boutique that was playing all the top 40 hits, and it made her feel younger than she was.
Edward had been charming. He was on his best behaviour and had made a generous donation to the hospice as well as bidding for the top prize in the auction and winning. A cruise for two. He made Attracta feel that she was doing her job very well and she felt proud to be sat next to him.
It wasn’t company policy to fraternise with the clients, but that night he’d offered to take her home and he was so persuasive she simply couldn’t refuse. When he pulled up outside her house, he leant across to give her a peck on the cheek and asked if he could take her out.
“Oh Edward, I’m right flattered” she said blushing. “I really shouldn’t though, you know, company policy ‘n’ all that.”
“Well darling, I think we could manage a day in Blackpool, you, and me. If anyone says anything then I’ll have your back and say that it was part of your fundraising,” Edward said leaning in close to her.
Attracta swallowed hard: “Ok then love, that would be grand. But best call me on my home number.” She went into her clutch bag and noted it down on the back of the raffle ticket.
Once inside her heart was beating fast and she looked at herself in the mirror by the front door, as Shere Khan weaved himself around her legs. “You’ve still got it,” she whispered to herself. She locked up and put the chain across before making a cup of Ovaltine and making her way to bed.
She hung up her dress and placed her shoes away in the box and washed her face. She rubbed in her pink face cream as Shere Khan watched her from the bed. Her alarm was set for 6.30am so she could do her exercises in the morning, and then she closed her eyes.
Blackpool was teaming with people all along the front. They’d be here to catch the illuminations later. Edward had picked her up and they’d enjoyed the drive over talking about Mummy and the hospice. He hadn’t given much away about himself. She knew he didn’t wear a wedding band, but he wasn’t all that forthcoming. He worked in engineering. She knew that already. He had contracts with the big defence company based locally and the buses. He made parts for them. Good money.
He lived in the valley, in a big house she expected. He had a Ford Capri, and he wasn’t shy about buying her things. Already she’d been decked out in a hat that said Kiss Me Quick, several sticks of rock for her godchildren and he’d booked a table at the Metropole for dinner. She felt a little underdressed, but was wearing her new blouse and Edward kept telling her how good she looked in her hat.
The illuminations were terrific this year and as they made their way down the front laughing at the characters and making jokes about the family in front of them, Edward pulled her arm though his.
When Monday rolled around all she could think about was Edward. It had been a long time since someone had paid her that much attention. He’d invited her over to his place in two weeks, she was excited to see it.
As the number 27 bus wound its way around the estate on to the dual carriageway, she wondered about whether she should let on at work.
The week dragged and she’d arranged to meet June on Friday in the Coop café. It was a bit more private there – they were less likely to run in to anyone they knew. They both slid their brown trays along the silver rails, placing a scone down on each and asking for butter and jam. They ordered tea for two and it came in a large silver pot with a jug of milk and a smaller pot filled with hot water.
They sat down facing each other. “Well!” exclaimed June. “I feel that this may take longer than a lunch hour, so you better spill the beans quickly.”
The afternoon was as long as a face on one of the Blackpool donkeys. Attracta had to spend it with the head of finance staring at spreadsheets. Her eyes squinting by the end of the day and the bus was late leaving the station. She sat upstairs at the front staring out of the rain splattered window, too tired to do the crossword in her handbag. She could hear the trees brushing against the top deck.
She was thrown out of her seat. Suspended in time - and mid air - her mind presented cinematic images of her and Mummy in the garden at Lytham by the paddling pool. Then bang. She felt excruciating pain momentarily. Then her world went black. People were screaming. Sirens zoomed in all directions. The fire brigade, police, ambulance. Flashing lights reflected in the puddles. The road was cordoned off and the fire men were using special equipment to cut people out of the bus. Sparks were flying into the rain.
A covered body from one of the cars was stretchered on to the ambulance. A red Ford Escort had skidded and jack-knifed into another car on the dual carriageway. The bus hadn’t stopped in time and drove into them and tipped. The engine went up in flames. Attracta was dead. Severe blow to the head.
Edward and June met at the funeral. They sat next to each other in church. June was beside herself but had promised she would read a poem. She’d chosen Remember by Christina Rossetti. She knew it by heart but had it in her book, which she clasped tightly in her hand. Her glasses, on a chain around her neck were pulled on to her nose and she took a deep breath.
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned:
Edward sobbed as he heard the words. It had been one of the worst crashes in the town. Six people killed. Eight injured. An investigation was ongoing.
He didn’t stay long at the wake. He extended his condolences to her mother and friends. Spoke to her boss about his ongoing support. She didn’t know about their dalliance. It was his secret. His wife was waiting outside in the Capri to take him home.
Thank you for reading Ninki Substack. This story is fictitious.
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Great story. Really well crafted descriptive detail. More fiction please!
What a great story Margaret, I was totally immersed. The line 'Cup-a-soup, Ryvita, an apple and a Penguin biscuit. Sometimes she would have cottage cheese' took me right back to my mum's diet in the 70s.