Red Rose

A vase of red roses always rested on the mantlepiece.

A beautiful scent, carried by the love he felt for his wife, remained where everybody could see. They didn’t cost a lot, but on Valentine’s Day, it was the only thing she wanted to receive.

In return she cooked his favourite meal, a fry up with buttered toast, just the way he liked it. Married for fifty years, they were hardly apart. In the care home, he asked their carer for roses, and she asked for his favourite food.

It was like they were twenty-five again, and their first meeting bloomed into her mind. Her behind the counter, and Jason in his work gear. He looked kind, and one day he brought her a rose.

‘I love you,’ she said, and relished his kiss. ‘You are my one true love.’

‘You are my turtle dove,’ he said.

Their wrinkled faces, united in their happiness, ate their meal with a glass of the finest juice and the music of love.