Their Valentine’s Day tradition only mattered when it was shared with each other...
BY JACQUI COOPER
The house was silent as Rory prepared the breakfast tray. He placed a pretty napkin on the plate. Cutlery. A small vase with a single flower. Moving on autopilot, he added Anna’s favourite cup and saucer, then, realising what he’d done he froze, staring down at the tray. It was her “special occasion cup”, too delicate for everyday use, bought on a whim in a craft shop on a long-forgotten holiday.
He swapped the cup for another, then added a pot of homemade jam, made by Anna after a day at a Pick Your Own farm. Her lips had been stained red from the fruit and, when he’d sneaked a kiss, she had tasted of sunshine.
Rory had been stung by a wasp that day and leapt around cursing until Anna had sternly drawn his attention to their interested audience of young children.
As he’d sheepishly apologised to the disapproving parents, Anna’s eyes had danced with laughter and she’d mouthed the words, “big baby”, as she produced antihistamine cream from her backpack.
The oven pinged, startling him back to the present and he burned his finger removing a croissant. “Ouch!” Maybe he was a big baby after all.
The pastry was singed, which upset him because somehow it was important that everything be perfect today.
He was sorely tempted to start again, but then reality kicked in. It didn’t actually matter what breakfast looked like, since no one but him would see it.
That truth was further driven home when he went to the fridge for the butter and his gaze fell on the calendar stuck to the fridge door. There, in Anna’s bold handwriting, were the words: Maldives here we come!!!
The date was three days ago. Today, February 14, they should have been sharing breakfast on the deck of a beachside villa. Rory closed his eyes, fighting a powerful wave of emotion.
All winter they’d planned their trip. Snuggled up together on the sofa while the rain beat down outside, they had immersed themselves in images of golden beaches and turquoise seas. And here he was, still in Britain, facing a lonely breakfast as their suitcases sat in the hall where he’d dropped them in a rush on the day everything had changed.
“It’s Anna,” her boss had said on the phone, sounding panicked.
“She was feeling dizzy. I was going to drive her home when she fainted. We’re at the hospital…”
Pulling himself back to the prese
