It’s the silence. It’s splitting my head open. Like a dagger. A bottle of paracetamol won’t help. No use putting the radio on. All those people whittering on. David’s at golf. Of course. Every bloody Saturday; come rain or shine. We’re supposed to be going out to dinner tonight. To celebrate my promotion.
David never wanted children. He never said but you could tell. Did I? Every couple wants children, don’t they? That’s the point of getting married. Even the gays want children. It’s the most rewarding part of life. I read that in a magazine.
I wanted a career. And I got it. Look at me ma! Top of the world. Head of logistics. David says he’s very proud: ‘It’s the first time for a girl.’
David’s at his father’s firm of solicitors. He’ll take over when the old man retires. David’s looking forward to that. More time to play golf, I suspect.
We still have sex. Every Wednesday. Even if we’ve done it already that week. Ha! most unlikely. David likes his routines.
My mother is always on at me, ‘No kids yet … When are you going to give me a grandchild?’ She doesn’t even know what ‘logistics’ are. Friends from uni. got married; had kids. ‘When are you going to start a family? they’d ask.’ I’d smile, shrug, say something like, ‘Oh, you know, anytime soon.’
My father says he would’ve preferred a dog. ‘They’re more loyal than children and they make a lot less mess.’
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 