Isn't it Time For a Happy Ending? Watch this Space!
Plus some exciting news - I can't cope!
Hello and a warm welcome.
For those of you who regularly read my short stories - and thank you if you are one of those kind people - then you may have noticed something. For some reason, I can’t seem to write happy endings and prefer to end my stories with a twist or something less savoury. I don’t know whether it’s because that’s the type of story that I enjoy reading or whether there is something going on in my head that says, ‘stand out from the crowd and write something different’ I don’t know - I think it’s probably a combination of the two.
Today’s ‘story’ is actually re-telling something that happened to me last weekend. But before I get on to that, I have some exciting news.
As we approach the second anniversary of Rosy’s Ramblings - I know, I can’t believe it either - I am about to publish my second book, Short Stories Sprinkled with Poetry, to coincide with the anniversary. (Second anniversary, second book. Neat, huh?) It will be available on Amazon and Smashwords to begin with but I will also be looking to have it available on other platforms, alongside my first book, A Collection of Poetry a Sprinkling of Short Stories, which is doing well.
I can’t tell you how excited I am but what would make me dance like Snoopy and Woodstock is if my debut novel, The Mysterious Disappearance of Marsha Boden, (which I serialised ‘live’ here on Substack and you can start reading it here at Chapter One), was picked up by a literary agent (I have pitched it to several) and I gained representation. Then I could properly call myself an author, something that I have always wanted to say when people ask, ‘What do you do?’ Silly, I know, but it would mean the absolute world to me.
A huge thank you to everybody who ‘liked’ the various chapters and left wonderful comments throughout our journey together during the whole 56 chapters. I salute you!
Isn’t it Time for a Happy Ending? Watch this Space!
Last weekend, I drove for just over two hours after a particularly hectic day in the office, from my home near Ludlow in Shropshire, to Swansea, where my daughter lives. It was pouring with rain, a Friday evening and although I was very excited to be spending the entire weekend with my beautiful daughter, I was very tired and thought I would have to stop for a power nap on the way, but the adrenaline kicked in and I arrived bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
After long, tight hugs (you know the sort, Roald Dahl style which squeeze you all out of shape), we enjoyed a Thai take-away accompanied by some fizz and then we moved on to the white wine. The next thing we knew, it was 1:30 am! Undeterred, we got ready for bed, jumped into our pj’s and then watched Marriage at First Sight Australia (I’m hooked, by the way) for at least half an hour before falling into a deep and contented sleep.
I was wide awake at 07:30 and started texting my friend to line up some rounds of golf, checked my e-mails, Twitter, etc. You know the kind of stuff we all feel we must do before we even think about prizing ourselves out of bed. The sleepy-head next to me mumbled from under the duvet that she couldn’t keep up with me. Youngsters.
We had a spa day planned at Monks Spa courtesy of my daughter’s thoughtful birthday gift and we had a wonderful time relaxing in the Aromatherapy Room, the Steam Room, Sauna, Jacuzzi - you name it - we enjoyed them. Then it was time for my neck, back and shoulder massage after which I felt relaxed and serene like I was walking on air. I sat in the Relaxation Lounge while my daughter went for her treatment and chatted with a lovely lady before we then both headed back to the changing rooms to shower and dress for lunch.
It was a glorious day and as we sat at our table by the window sipping our wine/water (guess who was the naughty one…) watching golfers play in the sun with the estuary as a backdrop, I glanced down to check the time. Instead of finding my faithful Christian Dior watch strapped neatly to my wrist, I was faced with a white tan mark in the shape of it. Naturally, (I never lose things, ever), I rummaged around in my handbag and started to panic. I have had the watch for over thirty years and have worn it nearly every day. Apart from having it cleaned professionally once and replacing the battery from time to time, it has been a trusted friend and a perfect timekeeper. I love it and feel like it’s part of me because I am so familiar and comfortable with it.
My daughter then had a rummage, turfing out all sorts of objects from my bag: umbrella, sunglasses (I referred to carrying these in my last post), a packet of tissues, pens, lip salve, purse and so on. She did it three times. No watch.
I gasped in horror and clamped my hand over my mouth. I deduced that instead of slipping it into my handbag, I must have slid it into the pocket of the robe I was wearing which would probably, by now, be in an industrial washing machine. (Yes, I was very dramatic but that watch meant the world to me).
I all but ran back downstairs to the Spa and accosted Mikaela, the first employee that I spotted, and blurted out that I thought I had left my watch in the robe pocket I had been wearing earlier.
“Are you sure you left it there?” she asked, eyeing me sceptically. “It’s just that we had a lady here last week who swore blind that she had left her Rolex in her robe pocket but when she got home, it was there!”
“No, it is definitely there,” I replied despondently.
“Have you been outside? Left it in your car, perhaps?” she asked dubiously.
“No. We went straight upstairs to the restaurant. We haven’t been outside at all.”
“OK. Let me check,” and off she went leaving me standing in reception all alone and feeling very apprehensive. It was, after all, only a watch and not a terribly expensive one at that. It just has great sentimental value.
A few minutes later, Mikaela emerged with a serious look on her face.
“I’ve checked all the robes waiting to be washed and it’s definitely not in any of the pockets.” She announced, hesitating before she continued. “Which means it’s in the industrial washing machine. I’m afraid that’s bad news because we have had things go in there before and they haven’t come out: disappeared through the pipes and…” She stopped mid-sentence when she saw the look of horror on my face.
“How long before the end of the cycle?” I croaked, trying not to visualise my beloved watch being sucked down an industrial-sized pipe, never to be seen again.
“About twenty minutes,” she said. “Are you still having lunch?”
“Yes,” I manage to squeak.
“As soon as the machine has reached the end of its cycle, I’ll see if it’s in there but either way, I’ll come up and find you to let you know.”
I thanked her and went back to try and enjoy the remainder of my lunch, my sweet daughter telling me to think positive thoughts and that even if it has been through the cycle, we could get it repaired. Good karma. “Repeat after me,” she said. “Good karma.” I sipped my wine despondently. “It’s not even waterproof,” I muttered, checking the restaurant door for the umpteenth time.
After what seemed like an age and me pivoting my eyes towards the door every time it opened, Mikaela appeared. She had something in her hand.
“I found it and it’s still working!” she exclaimed as she walked towards our table, holding my watch up high like a revered trophy. Goodness knows what the other diners thought.
When she handed it to me, I burst into tears. Silly, I know, but I was so happy to have had it returned to me in good working order.
Mikaela was kind and thoughtful as were all the staff we encountered both in the spa and in Fredricks restaurant. She gave me a hug and said, “Bless you.”
I couldn’t thank her enough and the jolly mood returned to our day having been clouded over slightly by this unexpected turn of events. My daughter remembers her Dad buying it for me so she felt almost as bad as I did.
My watch continues to keep perfect time and it has never been so clean!
I hope you have a wonderful week and that you enjoyed this post. 👉Don’t forget to ❤️ which helps boost views which can lead to more subscribers which makes me very happy! 😃 Want to make me dance like Snoopy and Woodstock? Then spread the word, share this post and don’t forget:
Rosy’s Ramblings is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. (I promise I will dance like Snoopy and Woodstock)