A Flash Of Red

Colour brings courage in this light-hearted short story by Della Galton.

AMY woke from a nightmare in which she was standing in front of Gregg Wallace from “MasterChef” with a frying-pan in her hand and all her clothes fell off.

She shrieked and her husband, Jonathan, sat up with a jolt. He yawned. “Amy, love, what is it?” “Just a nightmare. Sorry.” She leaned over to look at her mobile. “Have I overslept?”

“No, love. It’s only just gone seven.”

“I think I’ll get up anyway. Just to be on the safe side. I don’t want to go back to sleep and end up being late.”

She stole across to the window and looked out at the quiet village street.

Across the road one of their neighbours was putting out the recycling bin and the red post van had just pulled up next door.

Ashmore was a sleepy place in the back of beyond.

It wasn’t every day a young waitress like her got the chance to go on “MasterChef”. No wonder she was dreaming about Gregg Wallace.

Not that she’d get to meet Gregg today or anything. Today, she was just going to see the interview panel.

She had already prepared her dish, a risotto that could be eaten hot or cold, and she had memorised her answer to every question they might ask.

That bit wasn’t hard. She’d wanted to be a chef for as long as she could remember. Her grandmother had been a cook when she’d been young.

Nan had wanted her own restaurant, too, but female chefs weren’t as common back then, and besides, she’d had a big family to raise.

Amy leaped out of bed, ready to face one of the most exciting days of her life.

An hour later she and

Jonathan were on their way to the train station where she would catch the 9.01 to London.

He wasn’t going with her as he had to go to work – he was an ambulance driver – but he was wonderfully supportive and had offered to drop her off.

“You’ll be fine,” he said as they sped along the country road that led into town.

At that moment something bright caught Amy’s eye.

It was a flash of red on the side of the road.

It looked as though it might have been a crumpled red serviette, like the ones they used in the restaurant where she was a waitress.

Hey, maybe it was a good omen: a sign that she was going to sail through the selection process and get on to “MasterChef”.

Amy fantasised about winning the finals and becoming famous.

Then she could open her restaurant, which she’d already decided would be called Belinda’s Bistro, after her nan.

Belinda would have loved that.

“We’re here in plenty of time for your train,” Jonathan said as they drew up in the station car park. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” She kissed him. “I know it sounds mad, but I feel as though the stars are aligned.”

She told him about the red serviette she had seen lat the side of the road.

“A good omen, then,” he said, even though she knew he didn’t believe in omens and was just being nice.

“Phone me with the good news as soon as you get it.” He winked at her. “Positive thinking, eh?”

“Positive thinking,” she agreed, feeling a surge of optimism.

****

Marjorie was almost out of puff. She was also incredibly excited.

Today was the day that her brand-new grandson was coming home and she was cycling through Ashmore village on her way to see him and her daughter, Sarah.

They’d already met, of course.

She and Steve had taken in a huge teddy when Leighton had been born, but he’d been premature and so had spent the first few weeks of his life in a special baby care unit.

Now, everything was fine and he was finally big enough to go home.

Marjorie was beginning to wish she’d taken the car instead of her pedal bike, but Steve had needed it for work.

And besides, she would

Just a glimpse on the side of the road was all it took . . .

need to get fitter if she was going to look after Leighton on a regular basis.

Sarah would go back to work at the end of her maternity leave and Marjorie would help out with childcare.

This was a prospect that simultaneously thrilled and terrified her.

How on earth would she know what to do?

Looking after a newborn was something she had wanted to do for her entire life.

She must be one of the few women in the village of Ashmore who had got to the age of sixty-one without ever having changed a nappy.

She and Steve had adopted Sarah when she was four years old, after years of trying for their own.

She had vivid memories of seeing her daughter for the first time. She’d been wearing a pretty floral patterned dress and a little red coat.

“Hello, my darling,” Marjorie had said, kneeling down to get on to the same level as the child. “It’s lovely to meet you – my name’s Marjorie.”

Sarah had stuck her thumb in her mouth and hidden behind the social worker.

“She’s usually quite talkative,” the woman had murmured, embarrassed.

“She doesn’t need to talk until she’s ready,” Marjorie had said, aware that the little girl was peeking out, her curiosity clearly already overcoming her shyness.

Once she had started talking there had been no stopping her, Marjorie thought now as she stopped pedalling for a bit.

The road had just sloped downwards so she had the chance to freewheel and catch her breath.

Then something red on the tarmac at the side of the road caught her attention.

It looked as though someone had dropped a glove or something.

Sarah had worn red mittens on that long-ago day, she remembered.

Little red mittens to match her red coat.

Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so scared.

Red had been her favourite colour ever since. Red was a colour linked with new beginnings and with hope and with courage.

It would be OK, she thought now. Seeing that flash of red was a good omen.

In fact, it would be brilliant. She and Sarah would muddle through – just as they always had.

****

Dan felt his stomach knot as he drove through the rain-spattered dusk along the country road through Ashmore. He was on his way to meet Kate.

They’d spoken on the phone – after finding each other online – but tonight would be their first actual meeting.

To say he was nervous was an understatement! He couldn’t remember feeling so anxious for years. It was ludicrous.

He was fifty-nine, for goodness’ sake, not some lovesick boy. But in some ways that just made it worse.

He really liked Kate – they’d found out during the dozens of phone conversations over the last fortnight that they had loads in common.

And they both had two grown-up children.

He had boys and she had girls.

This was second time around for both of them. Did that make the stakes higher?

In some ways yes, he thought as his lights picked out the sudden flash of something red lying at the side of the road.

It was gone so fast he didn’t have time to take in what it was. But his mind had already decided.

It was a red rose. Kate had once said they were her favourite flowers.

A red rose – the ultimate symbol of romance. Dan smiled to himself.

OK, so he knew it probably hadn’t been a red rose.

He was an idealistic soul, but it didn’t really matter. He knew it was definitely a good omen.

He felt his stomach unknot a little. Tonight was going to go well.

He just knew it.

****

Ben whistled as he made his way back from Naomi’s towards the flat he shared with two mates in the village.

It was a grey Sunday, but nothing could dampen his mood.

The weekend with Naomi had been brilliant. During an unforeseen deluge of rain on Friday night, Naomi had kindly offered to let him stay in the spare room.

That night, they’d stayed in and watched a box set and they’d spent the whole day together yesterday.

He’d cooked her a meal on Friday, too, which hadn’t been too inedible, if he did say so himself.

Everything had been perfect.

The only reason he was heading back home again now was because they’d planned to go out later and he hadn’t taken a change of clothes – well, he hadn’t known he’d be staying over at hers for the entire weekend.

He’d known for a while that Naomi was special. That she might even be the one.

They laughed at the same things, she was kind and he felt alive and incredibly comfortable when he was with her.

Besides, even if he had known he was staying over he couldn’t have fitted anything else into the hastily packed rucksack he’d taken with him on Friday evening.

It had been been too full of cookery ingredients to get a change of clothes in as well.

At the last minute he’d stuffed in his Man U socks – not because he’d expected to need a spare pair of socks, but because they always seemed to bring him luck.

His team won when he wore them. He’d got a bar job once when he went to an interview wearing them.

His dad had got better from a long illness when Ben had started wearing his socks to visit him.

Good things happened when his Man U socks were in his possession.

He’d known he’d need all the luck he could get if he was going to cook Naomi a spag bol.

Cooking wasn’t really his strong point.

Suddenly Marjorie didn’t feel quite so scared

His flat mates had laughed their heads off when he’d told them what he was doing.

Unfortunately, the socks had disappeared by the time he’d got to Naomi’s.

That was the one dark spot of the whole weekend.

He’d tried to explain this to Naomi this morning but she hadn’t got it.

“You obviously didn’t need them,” she’d said, arching her eyebrows.

“So I don’t know why you’re so worried.”

Ben was brought back to the present by the sound of a horse clip-clopping towards him.

This was such a quiet road – there were often riders and cyclists on it.

Hang about, what was that?

His attention was caught suddenly by a flash of red lying on the opposite side of the road.

It couldn’t be, could it? He ran across to see.

Yep, it was. His Man U socks. He pounced on them.

They were a bit damp, having spent two nights outdoors, but they’d clean up fine.

Thank goodness no-one had picked them up. Still whistling, he tucked them into his rucksack.

Of course no-one had picked them up. To him they represented optimism, courage and love.

But to anyone else they’d be just a tatty old pair of red socks, wouldn’t they?