Helen Lyne
writer, spoken word poet
My story, Your Last Winter, was chosen for publication in In the Depths of Winter: Better Read than Dead Winter Writing Competition 2018. Here is an extract.
You lie still, flat on your back, waiting for Adam to arrive. A warning twinge woke you at five o’clock and you haven’t moved since. The morning light insinuates itself around and under the blind. It might be a sign of good surfing weather. He won’t be late, not like the previous ones. They never allowed themselves to be pinned down.
They’d say, “See you tomorrow, about seven thirty”, or “seven thirty give or take”.
One had said, “Soon as I’ve ‘ad me egg and bacon wrap and cappuccino”. He didn’t last long.
The luminous hands on the bedside clock show seven fifteen. You hear the swish of the lift doors. There’s nothing wrong with your hearing. Mentally you wriggle in anticipation. His sneakers squeak on the marble floor between the lift and the front door. You feel the inrush of air from the hall as the front door swings open and you smile when he sings out,
“Hi, Rose. Are you ready for me?”
He doesn’t expect an answer but he likes to see you smiling when he bursts into the bedroom. The carpet absorbs his footsteps and there he is, silhouetted in the doorway: broad shoulders, narrow hips, golden curly hair – a beautiful man.