FECK YE

Her text would be:

Abc 441/1

Feck ye ye feck

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Not a word from him for a week, not until the sister and the other were gone but neither had she’d one for him. His first text was:

What’s up?

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She didn’t reply. The next:

My sister's left. I’ll see

you monday night?

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Which prompted the:

Abc 441/1

Feck ye ye feck

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Which she didn’t send. Instead she sent:

Abc 442/1

Busy mon

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And she hadn’t a text or a peep from him since.

In a story, he’d have sent flowers. A single rose maybe. Peach-coloured because red or yellow are common. Then, when she didn’t warm, he’d send a posy of freesia or bouquet of fragrant lilies. Which would start to mend her heart, but which still would not be sufficient. Finally he would appear wild and tossled at her door with an arm full of pilfered daisies, hollyhock, poppies, and foxgloves, torn from neighbors’ gardens on the way. Then she would take him in and they’d crush the bouquet between them as they kissed madly.

In a story -- written, every word, by the taoiseach's daughter, or so Cecelia'd claim.