Will you Still Love me Tomorrow? Even if I’m Dead?

I lined pillows down the middle of the bed between Pete and I, a “do not cross” line. Not that it would prevent him from making a move if he wanted to, but just to make a point. I needn’t have bothered, the Brandy’s did the trick, and we both fell asleep immediately. As I drifted into oblivion, I heard bells tinkling softly.

“Do you want to buy some lucky Heather lady? Spare a few coins and buy some.” I looked into a pair of dark ancient eyes. “Spare a few coins for an old lady buy some lucky Heather.”

I was dreaming, but it felt so real.

Wake up, wake up.

The dark yes mesmerized me. As I gazed into them they filled with tears. “Be lucky, make me lucky too.” The eyes were no longer ancient, but young and desperate. They filled with tears as they faded into the nigh. “Buy some lucky Heather for me and my love. Bring us luck.”


Will you still love me tomorrow?

When I opened my eyes it was morning. The line of pillows was the only other thing sharing my bed. Pete was gone! There was a chill in the air. Wrapping my robe around me, I went to close the window. Ouch! I bent down and rubbed my foot. What was that? A tiny silver bell glimmered in the early morning sunlight. A gypsy bell! How’d that get there? And then I remembered my dream.

I looked out of the window and across to the market place where the fairground folk were just waking up. It was too early for the stalls and rides to open, but they busied themselves sweeping and cleaning. One or two sat together drinking from huge steaming mugs.

How did the bell get in my room?

A tap on my bedroom door made me jump. “Hey, are you decent, I made coffee and toast.”

“I’m coming.”

Whats happening to me?

“What’s with all the heather, how much good luck do you need?” Pete asked.


I followed his gaze to the table behind my sofa. The top was covered with purple and white heather. I almost dropped my cup.

“Steady on! Are you alright?”

“Is this a bloody joke, if it is, it’s not funny. You were supposed to be here to make me feel safe, not play games with me.”


“The Heather, you must have gotten out of bed pretty early to find this. Did you think I’d fall into your arms with fright?”

“Slow down, what are you talking about?”

“It’s not funny. You put the Heather there and it’s not funny.”

“Do you really think I’d do that? Come on, this is me, I’m a joker, but wouldn’t go to that much trouble. Odd though, I didn’t notice it last night.”

The radio burst into life, it was full of static, we could barely hear the song.


I’m at the beginning of my writing career, my first novel Dead of July is available on Amazon for $0.99. I’ve been writing stories since 1970, and finally plucked up the courage to publish them. I hope they entertain you.


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