Together
Vicky's working now, as well, eight hours six days a week, and saving most of what she earns. She likes the people there. They tease her about Carl. He's twenty-one. He's got an Escort with sport trim and alloy wheels.
They met a year ago. Vicky's sister asked her if she'd sit with Carl one evening in The Miller's Arms. They talked. He missed her — unusual for him to feel that way and asked if she'd see him again. All went well. And better. On Boxing Day they were engaged. Lots of friends were there. Then they spent the weekend by the sea. Her mother knows. (She says it's 'proper' now.) Their wedding plans are made: August the tenth, a Saturday, at two. Often Vicky imagines hands, Carl's and her own, gently overlapping, hers emerging with a ring. Vicky wants a child quite soon. Carl meets his mates four nights a week. He says he needs two or three pints to help wind down. Sometimes he sees her first. He drives, slides in cassettes, adjusts the sound.
He leans and kisses her neck and her mouth; she tries to name this thing that holds them bound.
Robert Etty
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