She had been content with this life

Sophie had no memory of ordering the book. It arrived through the mailbox that Friday morning, just squeezing through to land with a heavy thump on the hallway floor. A thump loud enough to make her jump and wonder what was going on. The post? This late?

She left her tea on the side table, paused the Antique Roadshow, and wandered out to investigate. A thickish cardboard package. She turned it over in her hands. No clue as to the sender, even the postmark had been smudged. No Amazon smile, nothing like that, just a simple, cardboard box and inside, the book.

Sophie knew she could be forgetful, the kind of forgetfulness normal to people her age. But she rarely read, so she would’ve thought she’d remember ordering a book.

The cover was one of those beautifully illustrated images with flowers and butterflies and birds, and in the middle, the silhouette of a woman. With her slender neck and upswept hair, she could’ve been any age, a thought which pleased Sophie. The silhouette woman could even have been her. Sophie laughed out loud.

She WhatsApped her daughter: Did you send me a book, darling?

No mum why have you received one?
Yes
Who from?

Sophie resisted the temptation to correct the grammar. Who cared these days? Especially on devices where it was all about getting the message across succintly.

No idea, that’s why I asked you.
What is it?
Beyond a Life.
Never heard of it.
Ok, heart emoji

Sophie made herself a fresh cup of tea, turned the television off without learning the value of the dark seascape found in someone’s granny’s attic, and opened the book.

The late afternoon moved into evening. Sophie turned on the reading lamp, and shifted on the sofa to bring her legs up. She snuggled more closely into the cushions.

Evening moved into night. Sophie needed a toilet break, and a fresh cup of tea. She hurried with both, decided she wasn’t hungry, and cuddled into the sofa with the book.

It was near dawn when she reached the final pages. Sad to see the story end, but satisfied with how the author had brought it all together. Sophie closed the covers, and sat with the book on her lap, staring into the corner shadows of the room. She had been content with this life, with her few friends, her one or two community projects, her garden and what she could find to entertain herself on the television.

That contentment had fled. Sophie stroked the silhouetted woman on the cover. It could be her, she decided, not laughing this time. It could be the life she might have had – or … she peered hard at the silhouette. The woman had shifted, was facing Sophie, and it was her … like a mirror. The woman brought a hand up from somewhere, put it to her lips, and winked. Come along, she said to Sophie’s mind. Let’s live a little.

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Find Cheryl’s flash fiction and short stories, including audio versions of some, here!