The Cherry Blossom Murder*

“How are you lovely?” The message comes through from my Seb.

“Just doing some writing on phone on bike at gym.  Didn’t see any eclipse.  Did you?” I say.

“No, wasn’t really aware of it,” he says.  “Don’t think it was great down here anyway.  Lovely day now though.  Spring has sprung!”  

My darling.  Picture him wandering around smelling the camellias and listening to the blackbirds and…remember Ferdinand the bull who sat under the cork tree and smelled the flowers and wouldn’t fight the matadors in the ring.  That’s my Seb.

“Yes.  Hope next weekend will be nice weather,” I say.  Just in case he’s forgotten that am visiting him then, am reminding him.  “How is work?”

“OK, still have a lot to do but have a few days free now so should get it done.  Yes, nice weather next weekend will be good, but it will be good anyway,” he says.

At least have found a little bottle of Tabasco at the parentals, I think.  Will pack that and the new squeezy Marmite.  Can’t bring self to mention the need-for-non-feather-pillows just yet. Somehow must drop it into the conversation in a casual manner.

“It will!  Can’t wait to see you,” I say.

“You too,” he says.

Am missing my darling. Somehow have ended up in a Long-Distance-Relationship which isn’t ideal.  Part of the point of the dating was to meet someone who could support my parentals in looking after me: taking on some hospital visits, supermarket shops and so on.  Someone who’s around a bit.  And yet here I am, in a relationship – well done me – but he’s several hours away.

Mustn’t grumble.  Seb is of course a hundred, a thousand times better than any of the Tinder chaps.  And yet he’s not here.  

Want him to be with me, now, I think as I wait for the tube home.  Want to be going home to snuggle up with him in the nest.  There’s a pizza in the freezer, we could eat that.  Bearing in mind his “have you got anything a bit more modern to watch” plea of last time, have been recording some recent films.  There’s Control, which somehow have never seen, in which Ian Curtis is manic depressive and kills himself.  Then there’s Shame, which saw when it came out, about a sex addict and his messed-up sister.  Its star, Michael Fassbender, trained at Seb’s drama school.

Will be with my darling soon, I think as I walk back from the station.  This time next week we will be together.  The ornamental cherry trees on my road have burst into clouds of white blossom.  It’s a beautiful shock after their bare winter branches. And there are two magpies on the grass: two for joy.

Happy Saturday everyone!

*2014. By Fran Pickering.

4 thoughts on “The Cherry Blossom Murder*

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