FIRST PLACE £100
WINNER
Deborah Tomlin
Lovers
Her toes peep from the plaster,gently he puts on the sock.
Go carefully, he had said,taking her hand. Slippery leaves.Still she went down.They heard the snaplike the crackle of a bonfire.
Shetells me all over againwhile Dad pops to the shops,buys a few bits for lunch.He comes back, makes more tea,answers the phone, gives her an aspirin,alert to her every grimace, sigh, look.The ambulance manbrought my glove round you know.Yes, Mum, I say. Lovely of him.
In the kitchen Dad tells mehow he fears his cancer;loss of dignity, pain, how he will die –leaving Mum behind.I take out the rubbish, cry into thedustbin.
she calls as I step back inside.He rolls his eyes, grabs another sock warmfrom the radiator. She nods.He leans towards her; they touch noses,smile into one another’s eyes,kiss again and againas if in
