Love, mum
The next letter arrived on a Saturday morning in June. I was on the front porch, picking up the fresh bottles the milkman had left.
The postman handed it to me with a grin, ‘There’s another one for you, son.’
I turned over the postcard and read ‘Greetings from Venice’ scrawled across it in swirly writing. A gondola sailing down the calm waters. It was sunset, and the rows of houses on either side of the canal were a burnt orange. It was a pretty postcard. Mum had probably spent some time picking it
out, making sure it was the perfect one. Pity, she didn’t do that when choosing husbands.
I walked back into the house.
Gran was in the kitchen, ‘Is that another one? Where are they now?’
‘Venice.’
This was the sixth postcard I had received from her. She always seemed happy in them. Holidays do that, don’t they? They make you forget about real life for a little while. I wonder how long that will last when they get back.
Mum has a habit of falling in love. And then out of it. This was her fourth marriage; my dad was her second attempt but that one soon ran its course. I liked number 3: Andrew. He was a dentist, and always had a lollipop for me after work. But when I was 11 they divorced.
I’m 13 now and mum’s just married Rick. ‘Slick Rick the salesman’ Grandad calls him. She went out for a new dishwasher and came home with a new boyfriend. Gran says she’s always been wild. I heard her and Grandad talking one night, just before the wedding. They sighed a lot. They always sigh when mum’s around. So do I, if I’m being honest. She has that effect on people.
I threw the postcard into a box of about a dozen others, most of them dating back to her honeymoon with Andrew. I wondered, how long will it be till she’s sending me another batch of these? I’ll probably need to invest a few more boxes.
SKFlashes 