By Roger Noons

Annie agreed to come with me. “Is John away?” she had asked when she rang me.

“No, but it’s his busy time. Three weeks of cooking the books in order to set next year’s budgets.

Surprisingly, there were spaces on the car park near the entrance to the Maternity Unit. Setting out to impress the two male doctors in conversation near the ticket machine, Annie skillfully reversed into a marked area. Before I could open my bag, she had leapt from the Altea and fed coins into the slot. Her return was slow, languid, pretending to study the ticket. I noted the admiration on the faces of the medics. She’s always had an enticing bum, especially when wearing tailored, linen trousers.

We had almost an hour before the appointed time, so after I’d registered my attendance, Annie waited alongside the desk. When one of the doctors we’d seen outside appeared to collect a file, Annie pounced. Hand on his forearm, eyes sparkling, smiling, she whispered in his ear. Her request obviously worked; six minutes later I was sitting opposite the Consultant.

“Well?” she asked, when I returned to the Waiting Room.

“I’ll tell you in the car.”

She barged us into the lift and within seconds we were belted up. Ignition key held aloft, she asked, “Are you?”

I nodded.

“Wow, that’ll be a surprise for John.”

“Yes,” I mumbled. “We’ve not had sex for more than a year.”

“Ah, in that case, we need to decide how to proceed.” She fired up the engine. “I know a good place for lunch.”

Although I wasn’t hungry, I was consoled by the we.


Roger Noons writes film scripts as well as short stories and poetry. His work has been published in numerous anthologies and in 2018, 75 of his 300 words or less flash fiction pieces were published under the title Slimline Tales.

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