Sweet Things

A young couple sat opposite one another on a train.

'Would you like a fruit tella?' asked the young man, his words drenched in delicious tangy juice.

'No. Sweets are bad for you,' replied the young woman irritably.

'What are you talking about? They’re packed full of vitamin Es! These fruit tellas alone have E111, E105, E129, the list goes on.'

She refused to humour him, resuming her vacant stare out the window.

This always happened when they talked about sweets. A complete breakdown of communication. She despised the artificiality, the lurid colours and stickiness, whereas he revelled in those things, in their naughtiness and alien seduction.

He became indignant. Then downright furious. They were becoming more and more distant, and it was a distance no longer exclusive to sweets.

He wanted to antagonise and provoke her. Make her rage or cower. Do something! Anything but sit there in matronly disapproval.

Surreptitiously, he placed a packet of blackcurrant chewits on the table between them.

His opening gambit.

A faint crinkle of her pale, silvery lips. Nothing more.

It was time for bold action. He threw down a bag of pear drops, ensuring they clattered loudly on the table.

She didn’t even look, unwilling to acknowledge that he had raised the stakes.

This only served to goad him further.

Down came white paper bags full of strawberry bonbons, cola bottles, cherry cola bottles, aniseed balls – one by one slapping the table in time with the clackety-clack of the train tracks – parma violets, chocolate mice, pineapple cubes, barley sugar, rhubarb & custard, rosy apples – he was uncontrollable now, his face red and contorted, his pace steady and forceful, a growing wall of sweets dividing the young couple – fruit pips, gobstoppers, west Indian limes, fudge, alphabet letters, candy necklaces, raspberry millions – and finally, with a huge, damning shriek – ‘LEM-ON SHER-BETS!’

He sat back, panting, peering over the wall of sweets, desperate for a reaction. A reaction that will tell him there’s still passion, still hope in the relationship.

She turned and faced him, her eyes weary, her mouth curled at the edges.

'You’ll get spots,' she said.