Is that our coach? Constance asks. It’s all yellow and green just like the …
… one we went to Bognor in for our honeymoon, Virgil finishes.
Wonderful! Where did you find it?
Well, if anything, it found me.
Oh, an adventure, how lovely! Constance says. It’s not one of your make-believes, is it?
Look at him.
The coach driver, dressed in a smart navy-blue suit, doffs his shiny peaked cap, revealing an impressive head of coiffured black Brylcreamed hair. Welcome to the famous Nostalgia Tours, a company limited by time, he says. Your seats are at the front. 

Seated on board, Constance observes, seems we’re the only passengers. Bit odd, isn’t it?
A result of Covid, perhaps? After all, it did for us. 
Is it an expensive trip? Constance asks as the coach pulls away.
I thought it reasonable.

Constance opens her eyes, Gosh, that was quick. Are we there yet?
That brings back memories. You were asleep.

The bus halts. Constance and Virgil stand in a broad village street of old stone houses.
Where did our coach go? Constance asks. How will we get back?
Maybe we won’t, Virgil says, kissing his wife on the cheek. Let’s look at our old house.
As they walk, arm in arm, an unexpected shower falls. Is it snowing? She asks.
It’s dust, Virgil sneezes. Here we are. Once, where we belong, to mis-quote Jo Cocker.
Passing through the wooden farm-style gate they enter a garden. 
The falling dust becomes a haze. Taking a deep breath, Virgil blows it away.
There it is! Our garden. Constance cries out in delight.
Birdsong fills the air. Collared doves, as ever, cry, it’s awful. 
Bloody doves. It’s beautiful. But why is there a soundtrack? It’s like an ad for Cartland’s romantic slush. Across the front of the sunlit stone house a multitude of white roses bloom.How can that be? she asks. It’s the wrong time of year.
Virgil looks at his watch. It’s stopped. Oh dear, oh dear, like the rabbit, we can’t be late for our important date.

Constance and Virgil stand in the churchyard of St Aidan’s. No mourners are at the side of an open grave where the celebrant delivers the blessing.
If that’s our grave, where are our children? Constance asks.  
No one allowed. So sad. 
Bloody Covid! I’ve tried to forget all that suffering.
We were lucky to go together.
Look! That’s our coach driver. Constance laughs. He’s bald as a coot. That teddy-boy look was a wig. And now he’s a vicar. Her tone changes. Hang on, they’re lowering in our coffins and I’m going in first. I’m not having that!
Why ever not?
I always preferred being on top.
That’s just our mortal bodies. 
I would still like to be on top.
Shall we find a hayrick? Virgil asks.
Do you think we could?
Only one way to find out.
You always were a randy sod, Constance laughs.

The vicar waves his wig and blows a kiss.

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I hope you enjoyed this story. Please feel free to pass it on to others who may be interested. You can read my previous 500 word stories on my website www.philcoskerwriter.com under ‘Writing’.>>>More
© Phil Cosker 2024
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