Here's something that came up in writing practice, more complete than usual, possibly a little sweeter than I would normally find coming out of my head; I mean there's no blood, no supernatural goings on... But you can't really throw it back just because it's not the normal fish you catch...
By the way this is fiction. I don't have gold coins in my curtains, or at least not that I know of...
Rubbing Pennies
After two hours of listening to the the wind outside battling to be noticed against the double glazing and the steady breaths of sleep coming from beside me, the ache in my back and my open eyes has become too much. I slide from the duvet slowly, trying not to wake him, hoping to keep him in warm, soothing dreams.
The house is quiet, the whispering clocks getting all of the attention as they tut their boredom at me from one room to another. I walk to the patio doors, part the curtain and look out onto the moonlight barricade of weeds surrounding the house. It’s like a wild green ocean in the wind, flowers tossed from wave to wave, losing petals with every surge. I drop the curtain, noticing that the hem’s loose as it drags across the floor. I mutter a scolding to the cat, who is probably on the bed sleeping beside my husband and crouch to see how bad the damage is. The curtains were in the house when we bought it, already sun faded and thin. The lining has come away from the hem and threads trail across the floor like long albino spider legs. I sigh and add it onto the long list of things that need fixing, or replacing, the expensive list that I keep in my head. The list that makes my back ache and my eyes stay open.
I turn to go to the kitchen and my feet brush against something cold on the floor. The pennies used to weigh down the curtain have spilled out and I bend to pick them up, feeling older as I do it. Pennies in the hems, that was something my gran used to do. She always said that the real weights were just called pennies, but they were lead. Why buy something for more than a handful of change, when a handful of change would do? I smile as I shift the weight in my hand. She’d be proud of all our pinching and saving.
I turn to the kitchen, slide the pennies onto the counter and make a cup of tea by the light of the fridge, drinking standing up and staring at my half reflection in the window. After ten minutes the cold that creeps in beneath the doors has numbed my feet and I head back to bed. It takes some time but my husband’s breath is a lullaby too gentle to resist.
I stagger downstairs in the morning to the dawn chorus of washing up and the kettle boiling. At the bottom of the stairs I catch sight of my husband skipping across the kitchen, singing to himself. I’m confused but I smile. It’s nice to see him happy but I’m not sure why. He turns and sees me, rushing forward to hug me, my feet leaving the floor.
“Where did you find them? Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“What?”
He drops me, grabs my hand and pulls me into the kitchen, picking up the pennies from the counter.
“Those? They’re just pennies from the curtain.”
“Look closer...”
He’d rubbed away some of the tarnish on the side of a coin. It no longer looked bronze, it looked...gold.
I looked up and met his eyes and he nodded.
“I looked on the internet, I think they’re Roman.”
The smile crept onto my face like hope, erasing the bags from beneath my eyes.
“And you said they came from the curtains...”
“The hem’s torn...”
He nodded and took my hand, leading me into the dining room, where the curtains hung askew, trailing on the floor.
“We can buy new curtains.”
