Elastic Band

He told her he’d be a millionaire when he retired.

       ‘I can have £200,000 one year, £50,000 the next, if I want,’ he said pressing the button for the green man.

She nodded, as they crossed the road. She noticed some square paving stones were uneven, uprooted at the edges. It reminded her of a TV show she'd watched as a child where the contestants didn’t know which square to stand on; each carried a risk.

She rubbed at the smooth plastic of the £5 in her pocket as they approached the glasshouse. Taking a step in side, she felt the warm air blow on her face as she saw yellow daffodils line the entrance.

     ‘Just closing up,’ said a woman waddling towards them.

    ‘Ah well, we’ll just have to look through the glass then,’ he laughed.

They walked on, taking the long route around the park, past a bench with a pink bouquet propped up on it and a long thin stemmed red rose, resting like an unwanted Valentine. Past solo’s sitting scrolling with scrunched-up eyes and jerky feet.

        ‘It’s stressful knowing what to do,’ he continued.

        ‘It must be,’ she said, her voice sounding higher than usual.

        ‘The extra money could pay Evie’s rent for a while or I could buy a boat or…’

        ‘That’s a good idea, it’s good to have options.’

And she wondered, all the time they’ve spent together, what does it mean? They are no closer than they were four years ago, actually that’s it, they are back where they started. Like an elastic band stretched by a thumb and forefinger, there was a space for a while where possibility lurked, the odd conversation about the reason why he chose not to do up his place - because he didn’t know what was happening with them.

She’d thought it was an excuse; he’d simply taken on a job that was too big for him, for them.

They reached the end of the park, back onto the busy street and like the elastic band, all that had troubled her at the start; the distance, lack of support, the social gap was poised, ready to spring back.

His million would be his.

Part of her wished for him to cup his hand on the round of her shoulder and say; don’t need to worry, I can see how you work, how you struggle, how you do it all alone, it can’t be easy, I’m here. The other part of her scolded herself; how fucking Victoriana.

She leafed the edge of the £5 note wondering how much it would get her and Calum in Tesco’s today.