Dear Grandma

Thomas had known that neither of them would get over it any time soon – even now, a year later, he still felt a pang whenever someone asked when they were starting a family. Ready to begin the process of moving on though, the next day he had driven her to the next town, to the antique shop she’d wanted to visit for ages. It was a curious place, dark wood walls rising from an almost-neon yellow carpet, and bursting with a chaotic assortment of furniture, ornaments, everything. The bright-eyed owner, with silver-white hair and the reddest lipstick they’d ever seen on a woman her age – they’d laughed about it on the way home – had let them walk around undisturbed for hours, opening all the cupboards and drawers, giggling at their warped reflections in the old mirrors, and making up silly voices for all the creepy dolls scattered around. Eventually, after a particularly insulting comment about a brown-haired doll, the owner had approached and rather bluntly asked them if they were planning on buying anything or if they were simply there to ‘mess around like children’. Amanda had grabbed the nearest item and announced that it was exactly what they were looking for – a white and blue china teacup. The old lady had turned up her nose, picked up the whole tea-set, and carried it ceremoniously over to the till to wrap up. Nothing could completely fix the grief they both felt for the children they’d never have, but that trip had certainly helped in the immediate aftermath. “The others are fine! Except this one, but only the top plate is smashed.” Amanda beamed at him. That was something, at least. “Not too much to replace then,” Thomas chuckled despite himself, as he pulled out the final few lumps of newspapered china and gingerly unwrapped them. “But we’ve lost two of those blue and white teacups.” Amanda launched herself over immediately, tenderly unfolding the newspaper from around the broken shards of blue china like she was unwrapping a swaddled infant. “Two broke? We’ve only got two left?”

“Only two left.” He held them up to show her, rather sadly. “But at least that’s one each.” “One each. That’ll do, I suppose.” Thomas stood, setting the teacups down on the kitchen side and flicking on the kettle she’d unpacked before discovering the crockery disaster. Pulling Amanda to her feet and slipping his arms around her, Thomas smiled, and said, “That’ll do.”