“C U Next Tuesday” her thumb hovered over send. Did she really want to see Peter again. She was in her early forties, pretty, well kept for her age; She could do better than him….
“I can’t believe you didn’t bring the stove; I’m dying for a cuppa.”
“I’m sick of carting it around, we never use it.” Rita was angry, it was the only time that she’d left it, and Peter had to notice.
Why did he have to ask now.
It was mild, but they had been walking for well over an hour. A cup of tea would have been nice…
“Peter do we have to go all the way up, I’m knackered”
“Okay you sit down under this tree; I’ll carry on to the top on my own”
Rita slumped down, and let her rucksack slide off her shoulders. She rested her back against the tree, as Peter strode off into the distance.
Peter was a bit of a boring man, a pompous ex military type, very Home Counties. He’d barely even kissed her in the four months since she met him. One drunken shag in the pub car park, and that was that; Peter seemed to think they were married.
She started collecting twigs and small branches from round the bottom of the tree to make a fire for his blasted tea.
She didn’t know that the grass was tinder dry.
The nurses in the burns unit had been great; and he’s back home now.
Unsuccessful entry for “Whispers Short Fiction Contest”: http://clarityofnight.blogspot.com/ …oh well never mind, there’s always next year!