Late March

Yes I’m late, I blame the clocks going forward. Anyway, moving on, here is The Canada Goose. (Yes, really :-)).

The Canada Goose

She put the last touches to the snowy landscape, smiling at the result.
Then he was behind her, the serene moment shattered as he snorted.
‘Here, some post came for you,’ he said handing her what was obviously junk mail. ‘What on earth is that?’
‘It’s a Canada goose,’ she clipped.
‘Looks more like an over grown pigeon.’
He walked out of the room chuckling, pleased with himself.
She decided to escape, go into town.

Looking through the bay fronted window of the new travel agent, she saw two women carrying a large advertisement for the place she had always wanted to visit, Canada.
‘Special deal! Too good to miss!’ It declared.
Standing in front of the window, she thought of all the things she hadn’t experienced. They hadn’t had children because he hadn’t wanted them, they hadn’t travelled. They’d had no life at all really. The realisation of this suddenly hit her in the stomach as if it were a physical blow. She saw one of the women looking at her with concern in her eyes, and she moved away, embarrassed.
When she got home, he was snoring in the armchair.
She went upstairs and threw a few things into a suitcase. Then she pulled out a dresser drawer and feeling underneath it, she took out an envelope, it contained £8,200 and a passport. Then she grabbed the picture, covered it, then carried the lot back to her car.
Sitting in the High Street cafe, a tap on the window next to her startled her. Looking round she saw Tom, a fellow painter. He looked very handsome; wearing a light blue checked shirt, open at the neck, and a lovely blue linen jacket.
‘Hi,’ he breathed as he sat down in front of her. ‘How are you?’ He was looking at the items around her.
She suddenly felt foolish, wondering why she hadn’t left her things in the car, and she blushed. She felt sad, small and foolish.
Picking up on her distress, he moved round next to her, once there he put his arm round her and gave her a squeeze. It felt good, and that made her feel even more upset.
‘Is everything ok?
She looked into his brown eyes and saw nothing but compassion. He gave her another squeeze.
‘Look, why don’t you come to my place, I was just headed home. I won’t pester, you can just take a bit of time and have a bit of space to think things through.’
At a loss as to what else she would do, she nodded in agreement.
He stood up and picked up her case, she picked up the painting. He lifted the cover slightly.
‘Ah lovely, you’ve finished the Canada Goose, I’m glad. What a wonderful painting.’
‘You know what it is?’ she asked surprised.
‘I do. It’s one of my favourites. I have a special interest in wildlife, I’d love to visit Canada one day. How about you, ever fancied it?