Short Story
By Jackie Brewster
Bride to Be “Have you lost something?” Fiona opened her kitchen window. While having her morning coffee she’d spotted an elderly gentleman in a sheepskin coat and wellington boots in the lane. He’d been peering into the ditch opposite for almost a minute. Within moments she’d pulled on her cardigan and was striding over to join him. “Can I help?” There was nothing Fiona enjoyed more than a crisis. Where others dithered she jumped in. Her husband complained that she acted first and asked questions later, but she preferred to think of herself as a problem-solver. “I can manage.” He turned and waved dismissively. “I’ve just dropped my spectacles down here, that’s all.” Fiona looked into the ditch, which bubbled with murky puddles and rotting leaves. The bank was thickly overgrown, but she could just about see a pair of glasses nestling near the bottom. “Don’t you worry, I can reach them.” She would have to climb down part of the way and hoped it wasn’t too slippery. “I’ll have them out in a jiffy.” “Reach them?” The man sounded alarmed. “I’d rather get them out myself if you don’t mind.” “We don’t want you falling in that water do we?” She smiled and patted his hand. “Not at your age.” “But I don’t see how that can happen,” he stammered. She took two steps down, and before she could steady herself she’d slid down the bank on her backside. Icy water seeped through the seat of her leggings. “Silly me,” she laughed awkwardly. “Perhaps I should have changed out of my slippers first.” “It’s really unnecessary,” he called anxiously. “I wish you’d leave it.” “I’m almost there,” she replied irritably. Honestly, she thought, he could be a little bit more grateful. She had no choice but to put her foot in the bottom of
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the ditch to haul herself upright. Thick mud squelched around it, sucking her deeper. She grimaced; these slippers would be ruined forever. Holding on to the grassy bank with one hand, she stretched with the other and her fingers closed around the arm of the glasses. “I’ve got them!” she laughed. They were thick with mud, but seemed undamaged. “Looks like they’re still in one piece.” “I’m pleased for you, dear,” the man said. “I’d offer you a hand up but you’re rather wet and muddy.” “I’m fine.” Her scramble back up the bank was quite undignified. She was beginning to think this man had no manners at all. She straightened herself up and held out the glasses to him. Rather than taking them he backed away. “I’ve got a tissue in my pocket,” she sighed; clearly he expected her to clean them as well. “We’ll soon get them looking good as new.” A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss, she thought, rubbing the glasses furiously with her tissue. The grey mud just smeared around them, refusing to go anywhere. “They’ll need a proper clean when you get them home.” She carefully slid them onto the bridge of his nose. She was covered in mud, her coffee was cold, and he hadn’t once said thank you. “But apart from that they’re in good shape.” He stared at her open-mouthed. She stood back and gave them one last rub. The words ‘Bride to Be’ appeared in little pink gemstones across the top of the frames. “I don’t know who these spectacles belong to,” the man said indignantly, “but they’re certainly not mine.” “So where on earth are yours, then?” she asked, peering back into the ditch. “Here, where they’ve always been.” He lifted his foot. “Stuck down my wellington boot.”
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