This article is taken from Stand 231, 19(3) September - December 2021.

Aideen Henry The Rhythm of her Days
Deirdre had only come on account of her two darling boys. She had dressed up for this visit, flowery jacket and her best skirt and heels. Not what you’d call comfortable. But couldn’t you be comfortable all day in your own home and no one passing any remarks on you. She was waiting in the hospital cafeteria to see him. They said they’d call her. Her ex-husband. Still couldn’t say that word out loud, couldn’t get it past her tongue. Didn’t feel real. Well, she wasn’t going marrying again so in a way, he’d always be her husband. Her one and only.

The last two customers in the café rose from their leather seats. The man in street clothes. His wife, she supposed it was his wife but then you never could tell these days, tightened the belt on her dressing gown and walked ahead of him. Stooped over and caved-in looking, she was. He held her elbow as they left. The waitress drew down one of the metal shutters with a clatter. Then a young pregnant woman in shiny boots appeared at the counter and ordered coffee. The waitress started pointing at the clock but the young one wasn’t having it, insisted. So very nicely. Deirdre watched until she realised who it was. Well. So, this was herself, Stephanie. She’d not have recognised her out of the wedding photos. And she only saw them photos in passing, on account of her eldest son wanting to show off pictures of his new ...
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