8/15/12

Maybe in the Next One
By Graham Connors


Tommy steps idly around the churchyard, making sure not to scuff his finely polished shoes. Pausing by the porch door he straightens the flower on his lapel, trying to avoid his reflection in the glass. It’s only nerves he tells himself, only nerves. On the other side of the yard his best man laughs loudly, flitting through the knots of gathered guests, a few pastel coloured cards clutched in his fist. Adjusting the lie of his suit, Tommy notices an unfamiliar woman stepping down the Chapel lane. He watches her, reflected in the glass, as she approaches the gathering group of his friends. Tommy turns as she slips a hand around the elbow of an old school friend, Sean. Curious, he waits and watches and catches Sean’s eye. They break from the group, Sean turning the woman to face Tommy.

“Cherie, this is Tommy, today’s poor unfortunate,”

“Hello,” she says, chastising Sean with a scolding smile.

“Hello,” Tommy says, “you look so familiar.”

She smiles shyly, “so do you,” her broad smile setting her face alight, “Have you ever been to London?” she says, her fragile blue eyes regarding him with the utmost curiosity.

“Afraid not.” Tommy is smiling now too.

“And this is my first trip to Ireland.”

“In a past life maybe?” he says, raising his hands in a gesture that brings a deep puce of shy embarrassment to his cheeks. Sean snorts sharply, “I see you’ve found a kindred spirit. Don’t forget who you’re marrying,” he says with a grin and a pat on the shoulder, turning to speak with the other guests gathered in the churchyard.

“Do you believe in that?” she asks, letting Sean slip into chattering crowd.

“Past lives? Maybe,” Tommy says, stuck very much for words. Looking at her he notices the delicate beauty in her face, the soft rise of her cheekbones, the vibrant dance of the afternoon light in her eyes and the warm curl of her lips as she smiles. A silence falls between them but it is neither awkward nor unkind; it is perfect. Looking at her, Tommy feels a tight knot inside him slowly unravel.

“Do you think she’ll be on time?” she asks, gently teasing that knot asunder.

“Who? Marie? Not a chance.”

She smiles, turning her face to the sun, as the best man steps from the thinning group of guests, smoothing his palms over his jacket as both he and Sean shake with laughter.

“Right, let’s get some seats, it’s nearly time, she can’t be a million miles away,” he says, checking his watch. “Tommy, you met Cherrie I see, brought all the way from London...”

“...at enormous expense,” Sean chimes as he finds his way back to her. She smiles again, Sean’s hand slipping into hers. Pausing, to let him step an arm’s length ahead, she turns to Tommy, her eyes meeting his for a moment.

“Maybe in the next one,” she whispers, before drifting into the cool shadows of the church mouth.


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Graham Connors is twenty-nine years old and has previously been published in wordlegs magazine and Link magazine as well as writing for the Dublin Informer newspaper in the Rep. Of Ireland . He successfully staged his first play, ‘The Mortal Pitch’, in both Wexford and Dublin. He is from Gorey, in Co. Wexford but has lived in Dublin for the last ten years.