Thursday, October 31, 2013

Winter's Spirit

Today is my Wedding Anniversary. Sixteen years ago today, we visited the Town Hall, enjoyed a small gathering at our home and finished the evening off with some fireworks and a few drinks. As it was so close to bonfire night, we didn’t actually need to buy our own fireworks either. Luck was certainly on our side.

So, today got me thinking. What traditional gift should I buy for my husband? A quick bit of research informs me that 16 years means a gift made of wax. Well, that’s a handy one. I’m sure he’d appreciate a lovely scented candle. 

So I’m looking through the list and the previous fifteen years’ worth of gifts and just checking that he has been provided with everything. 

1.    Paper – Yes. I seem to have given him lots of paper in our first year of marriage. Usually till receipts for all the shopping I did.
2.      Cotton – Yes. I’ve bought him lots of shirts over the years.
3.       Leather – Yes. He has had the honour of seeing me with a leather bag or two.
4.       Fruit – Of course. I make sure to buy him some every week.
5.       Wood. Certainly. He has been the proud recipient of some super pieces of garden fencing.
6.       Sugar and iron. Sadly, no he doesn’t take sugar. However, I have more than made up for this by providing him with an iron (usually at the weekends) and many iron nails (usually used for his no.5 gift.
7.       Wool and copper. Jumpers – yes – there have been many. Copper –lots of coins – he has his own jar for loose change.
8.       Bronze and pottery.  I failed with bronze, but always provide him with at least one piece of pottery every evening with his dinner.
9.       More pottery and willow.  I think we’ve covered the pottery.
10.   Tin, aluminium. Yes. Often used to wrap his sandwiches in the absence of some Tupperware.
11.   Steel. Does the car count?
12.   Silk and linen. Bedding covered with that one.
13.   Lace. No comment readers.
14.   Ivory. No. Illegal.
15.   Crystal. We have some lovely wine glasses.

Wow. He’s one lucky man. Bet he can’t wait for the next 16.

Speaking of gifts, the heroine in my story, Winter’s Spirit, runs a gift store. It’s full of all sorts of exciting goodies. Come through the door with me now and have a look around. I’m sure you’ll find something in there you’d like.

Winter’s Spirit Blurb:

Winter McAndrew is on the brink of divorcing her philandering husband, Philip, when he dies in a car crash. One year later and with unfinished business; Philip is still earth bound and interfering in his wife’s love life. Trying to make amends isn't always easy when you're dead. Not only has Winter fallen for her old crush, Jack Tobin, but he also happens to be Philip’s cousin. With more complications than a woman needs at Christmas, Winter tries to find peace at her holiday home in The Lake District. However, when she finds herself snowed in with Jack; ghosts, old and new cause quite a stir. Will Winter get her man, or will ghostly Philip put an end to all her festive fantasies?


“Oh heck,” she muttered. Not only did the vase shatter, but so too did her sexy daydream. Would it ever be possible for her to get though one of these daytime fantasies without breaking something in the shop? Last week it had been a coffee mug, the week before, a china soap dish. It wouldn’t do to get her sister too suspicious.

“Tut, tut,” came the voice she was fast learning to hate. “Not another one of your smouldering day dreams I hope.”

She turned around to see Philip; floating somewhere between the fragranced soaps and bath bombs.

“I’m starting to get annoyed at you just turning up here uninvited, Philip. Can’t you send out a psychic calling card or something? Or even better, leave me alone.”

He grinned, displaying his still perfect white teeth. Sadly, death had done little to deteriorate his charming good looks. “I can’t leave you until the deed is done. Whatever it may be. You know full well I need to do my good act on earth before I can pass over.”

“Well hurry up and do it. It’s been a full year already. I thought you would have figured it out by now. Haven’t you any idea what it is you need to do?”

“No. I haven’t. Believe me, I wish I could. This situation is just as bad for me as it is for you. I didn’t ask for it. Or this.” He gestured towards his attire. “It’s bloody freezing at the best of times, but this week has been awful. The cold gets everywhere.”

“Perhaps you should have thought about your appearance before you died in a hospital gown. I’ve no sympathy at all. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to tidy this mess before Summer comes in.”

“Ah, yes. You wouldn’t want her to see the evidence of your day dreams would you? If only I could read your mind dear wife. I’d love to know who is occupying your thoughts these days.”

“Well let me assure you, it isn’t you. Now go.” He folded his arms sulkily and vanished into the ether.

“Good riddance,” she muttered, bending to pick up the pieces of the broken vase. Her occasional clumsiness could be explained away, but she shuddered at the prospect of explaining her dead husband’s haunting. 


About the author; Deborah Melanie writes romantic stories, is the wife of a retired semi-professional footballer and lives in the historical town of Northampton.

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