Let Her Stay (pt5/8)

Let Her Stay

Let’s Get It On

(continued from Let Her Stay (pt4/8))

She stood in the museum. Looking through the dusty glass. Looking at his eyes locked on hers. So much love. So much pain.

She blinks.

Twice.

Then he does it.

In the first moment, no-one reacts. She sees them, out on the edge of her vision. They seem to freeze, as if playing statues. As if someone has turned around, trying to catch them in an act of subterfuge.

They react after a moment. Spin on their axes. Lego-toys in a cartoon garden. Heads and bodies swivel towards him – shwoo, shwoo, shwoo. Eyebrows raise. Mouths open. Arms arrange to fight. Legs long to flee.

She thought that they would scream.

No-one screams.

She was only a teenager when the Scots turned down their chance to leave the UK and she remembered thinking at the time what cowards they were. They’d fought battles, a war even, to try to wriggle out of the yoke of Sassenach Rule.

She knew that. She’d seen Braveheart.

Cowards.

Two years after that, she was old enough to add her voice to those eager to leave the EU. Old enough, and proud to do it. She’d show those damned Scots how to do it. How to stand on their own two feet.

Some warned that it would make the UK into a pariah. A hated race. The kind that would turn their back on a friend in need. But most didn’t care. They consoled themselves with the thought that England was strong. Big and strong enough to take on the world.

They were wrong.

The second Scottish Referendum ripped England’s head off, and the sudden collapse of the entire West Antarctic Ice Sheet punched her in the guts. She never recovered.

“Give Scotland back to the English!”

She heard him roar the slogan. Felt pride sing through her body at the sound of his good, strong English voice. An voice to rally to.

Someone giggled nervously. Damn their eyes.

She watched him take a knife from his sleeve and slash once over his cheek. As the blood began to flow, he smeared it once across his face. As more spilled out, a vertical stripe completed the red cross. That was her idea. Damn Mel Gibson and his crappy woad – this said something real – something vital.

This was a real man. Standing tall and strong, a good blade in his hand, shouting for his country. Taking a stance for his family. For Sarah.

“Give Scotland back to the English!”

He roared his defiance, over and again, his wife exulting silently as she watched. You are my God. I love you. I love you so damned much. A fierce craving to crush him in her arms. Yet still, she stood. Watching. Waiting.

It wasn’t long before the police arrived.

(continues in Let Her Stay (pt6/8))

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7 thoughts on “Let Her Stay (pt5/8)

  1. Pingback: Let Her Stay (pt4/8) | robertcday

  2. Pingback: Let Her Stay (pt6/8) | robertcday

  3. Pingback: Let Her Stay (full) | robertcday

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