POWERS SHORT STORY COMPETITION:TOM WAS wondering about cotoneaster. It was a spreader. Cotoneaster was low maintenance, but Tom didn't mind maintenance. He looked forward to coming here and talking to Carmel, doing a bit of tidying, a bit of watering. Another day gone.
“It was the driest April on record,” he told Carmel. Every week he gave her the news. “Earthquake in Spain,” he said. Some people were going to do begonias, but Carmel had hated begonias. It was hard to know what to do really. “Next week Michael is taking me fishing,” Tom said to Carmel. “He’s found an unpolluted stretch of water in Cavan. He’s a good son.”
Tom got on with putting in the violas. Twelve of them. That man was here again, the man two rows down, who looked like him. The same age, the same golf sweater. Tom nodded at the man two rows down. And at that woman as well, the woman with a nice figure. It was very windy for May. The gusts ran around the headstones. Exposed, Tom thought. That’s why he had stopped bringing cut flowers: the jars were knocked over and ended up looking messy. Carmel would have said that cut flowers were a waste of money. She was very economical. Of course, at the end she’d had to be. “We’re going to be living on special offers for the rest of our lives,” Carmel had said.
Tom hadn’t minded. Special offers were the least of their worries, at that stage. But Carmel minded – a lot. She had managed their money so carefully. She had saved so hard. She had invested so wisely. She had been so proud of how well she’d done.
“And I’ve never passed an exam in my life,” she’d say, as she looked up from another glittering letter from the bank.
The day they bought young Michael his house Carmel had run around their own garden shouting “Shorthand and typing! Shorthand and typing!” And then she bought more shares.
The violas bounced a little in the breeze. “They were on special offer,” Tom explained. He’d been golfing in Spain when the crash came. Earthquake in Spain. Carmel saying down the phone “I think I’m going to die of rage.” Tom straightened up with a sigh.
The man two rows down was approaching. “Wife?” he said.
Tom nodded.
“Drink?” said the man. He had a thermos flask. Which was full of hot Powers. With lemon and sugar. Tom felt it in his veins. Later, as the two men moved through the graves towards their cars, talking, the woman with the nice figure lifted all the violas Tom had planted, and took them home to her own garden.
Write a short story and win €10,000
The 1980s campaign for Power's Gold Label was an extraordinarily successful campaign. So here's a challenge for our readers. Write a short story in only 450 wordsthat mentions Powers Gold Label, on the topic of "celebrating what really matters". The prize is €10,000and publication in The Irish Times. For online entries see irishtimes.com/competitions/powers/. For postal entries send in your entry with your name, email address and telephone numbers to Power's Competition, The Irish Times, 24-28 Tara Street, Dublin 2. The closing date is Friday, June 3rd, 2011. For full terms and conditions, email marketing @irishtimes.com.
