THE PROMISE
Prompt - The promise : Write about a promise you've made to someone. Did you keep that promise?
"Promise Mummy?" The winter-wrapped bundle of expectation that was her son looked up at Melissa pleadingly.
"Promise wee man." And went on to transmute his grin into giggles with a quickfire "Promise, promise, promise, promise, promise.."
She would not, let him down, certainly not in something she knew to be as important as this. Memories of just how that would feel drifted her mind back twenty nine years, to when she was James' age.
Of being promised the magic she imagined would be hers if she could get to the funfair. They lived a way out on a farm, about seven miles from the village, and wasn't taken out in the evenings very often. But she had heard so much at school about the waltzers and stalls and shows and lights and noise and candyfloss that she knew, absolutely knew, that she had to go, had to see this mythical world. So she pestered and pleaded and looked sweet and looked grumpy until she got her way, and Dad had agreed to take her.
They drove down the lanes from their hilltop, stars gleaming on this already-frosty night, as her eyes gleamed with excitement. They parked up and walked along the road leading to where the sky was lit up by dancing colours and defined by the mock screams of thrilldom. A voice called out from across the way, a man standing outside the Horse and Shovel.
"Martin! Martin! Come away and have a pint man." Her father stopped, looked over, still with a tight grasp on her tiny hand.
"John it's yourself there. We're away to the funfair, someone here insists." She knew she was just 'someone'.
"Oh, you've time for a swift one, the fair's not going anywhere, and it'll warm you up before all that traipsing round."
Her father looked down. "Come on, we'll get you something to drink, so you've more strength for going round, eh?" And without waiting for her protests she found herself being dragged across to the unwelcoming pub, where she knew she'd be ignored, the men all smelled terrible and her father would become silly. "Just the one then, like you say it'll do us good."
And that was her evening at the funfair. One turned to two, to three, the point of the trip was forgotten, she was told, over and over, to keep quiet and drink her lemonade. That it wouldn't be long now. But it was. Too long. She cried a bit, and was still ignored. She tried sneaking out, but was swiftly called back. He wasn't taking chances. She fell asleep, the excitement dissipated, the disappointment no longer enough to keep her awake. Next she knew she was lying on the back seat of the car and they were nearly home. She never did get to the funfair.
Recalling all this had taken her away in the moment. An urgent tug on her hand, a voice with a note of desperation, brought her back to now.
"Come on then, let's do it, you and me. What colour should we go for?"
James' eyes widened. "Red."
"Red it is then." Hand in hand they half-an onward, straight for the sparks and cries of the dodgems. A promise was a promise.
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