A rose lay on the cold stone step. A short story written by Berni Albrighton

                                       

Margaret noticed old Mrs Cronin tending to her garden. She waved and      crossed the road. 

“Hello Mrs Cronin. How are you? Isn’t it a bit cold to be gardening?”

“And who are you?” Mrs Cronin asked.

“Sure I’m Margaret Moon from over the way”

“Jesus girl I would never have recognised you. Come in to the garden and talk    to me. Hows your Mother?” 

“Ah she’s grand thanks. Me Dads not too good, something to do with his back, he cant get out much” 

“Jesus girl that must be terrible for your Mother having him there every day.  Mind you my Dan Cronin is the same. His bad back is the reason he cant do anything. He forgot all about it when that woman came knocking last week. Practically fell to his knees he did. Stupid sod”

“Mrs O Connell? She came to us. Me Dads back made a miraculous recovery while he was standing talking to her. Mam called him a stupid eejit”

Mrs Cronin stood with her heels dug in to the soil, arms crossed.

“That woman’s husband wasn’t dead a week and she was out, galavanting. Bright red lipstick, and those shoes, Jesus girl how she walks in them I’ll never know”

“Actually Mrs Cronin, I don’t think herself and her husband lived together.             I heard me Mam saying that Mrs O Connell left him some time ago”

“Well anyway. I asked Dan Cronin what they had been talking about but you  cant get any sense out of him. I think he’s going mad, you know, round the  bend”

Mrs Cronin was pointing to the side of her head. 

“You wouldn’t recognise him if you saw him in his younger days. Never a hair  out of place and always wore a shirt. Now, well he hasn’t got any hair and       he walks around all day in a filthy old knitted jumper. His Mother would turn in       her grave”

She appeared lost in thought. 

“Anyway girl, I cant stand here talking to you all day I have flowers to plant”    She bent down and began digging into the soil with a big rusty spoon. 

“Mrs Cronin. Are those plastic flowers that you’re planting?” 

“Yes girl. I gave up planting real flowers years ago. Its too cold and wet, and  they kept dying on me. I cant be out here in all weathers, its not good for me”

“Well I'll leave you to it then Mrs Cronin”

As Margaret turned to leave she noticed something by the front door. 

A rose lay on the cold stone step, it was plastic.                                           She picked it up and walked across to Mrs Cronin.

“You must have dropped this”

The old woman reached out a veined hand to take the flower.                 Margaret saw the old woman’s lip tremble. 

“Dan Cronin used to give me roses when we were courting.                               I was young and pretty once. I haven’t always been like this”

She turned back to the task of planting her everlasting flowers.