He bought me a print for our first anniversary. A seascape from St Ives, our first weekend away together. The frame sat proudly as the centrepiece of the lounge/diner, except when we had dinner parties. Then the lighthouse keeper insisted on sounding his horn so that the plinky beacon noise echoed in the wine glasses. Then he’d call out, ‘Just a copy,’ as the sea spray dampened my carefully lit candles.

It became so tiresome I started covering him with a cloth but his muffled voice was even more intrusive, with the guests straining to ask, ‘What did he say?’ as I offered crabstick canapes as a distraction.

The painting is relegated to the shed with our relationship. I see you walking hand in hand with a siren and the sea splash takes my breath away. Looking at her I think, ‘She’s just a copy.’

 

Samantha Carr completed an MA in Creative Writing at Plymouth University and has had poetry and fiction published in various magazines including Cabinet of Heed, Bandit Fiction and 101 words. She can be found on Twitter writing micro fiction @sam_c4rr.