It gives me great personal pleasure to feature my friend and yours, Hugh Roberts. Hugh is always incredibly generous with his own time in relation to others, so it’s a pleasure to be able to return the favour. Please read and enjoy.
Thank you so much to Richard for allowing me to take over some space on his blog today. My name is Hugh W. Roberts. I’m dyslexic and have a passion for writing.
In celebration of my short story collection, Glimpses, reaching its first birthday in December 2017, I’ll be publishing some short stories from the book, both on my blog and as a guest over on the blogs of other bloggers. Look out for them over the next few months.
Today, I’d like to introduce you to Jonathan, one of many characters who feature in my stories.
Jonathan ironed his shirt. It was brand new, crisp, and white, but the creases he thought he’d ironed out had miraculously appeared overnight.
His stomach churned; he’d not been able to eat a thing; too afraid he would heave it all up the moment he reached the church.
His mobile phone had been pinging for what seemed like days now with messages and emails, most of which were of no importance apart, that is, from the one which begged him to call her back.
Matthew, his best man, was due back in five minutes.
The crease in the left sleeve was stubborn, refusing to budge. He looked for a bottle of water from the minibar so he could sprinkle some of it on the crease. His mother had taught him that this always helped when ironing out stubborn creases. It would have to do, even with the stubborn crease. After all, it would be hidden by his jacket so nobody would see it.
Ping, ping, ping. He picked up the phone and was about to throw it against the wall when her face stared back at him from the screen saver and stopped him in his tracks.
A tear rolled down his face. He couldn’t go through with it. She’d understand, wouldn’t she? But in five minutes’ time, Matthew would be knocking on the hotel bedroom door telling him it was time to go to the church.
Within minutes of him slipping on his shirt, doing up his tie and putting on his jacket, Matthew was knocking on the door. They hugged each other briefly.
“Are you ready?” Jonathan nodded his head.
“Take your time, mate, there’s no rush,” uttered Matthew.
As they walked out of the room and down the stairs to the ground floor of the hotel, a few more tears slid down Jonathan’s cheeks.
The tear duct dam burst the moment he stepped out of the car outside the church and saw the light oak box his ‘no longer wife-to-be’ was now laying in. Jonathan was supposed to be getting married to her, not burying her.
Taken from Glimpses. A collection of 28 short stories that will take you up a path full of twists and turns.
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