Ask and It Is Given

(750 words)
“Walnut looks good – feast your eyes on this!” Tabby held up a brochure of baby grand pianos. All gloss and gorgeous swirling grain.
“Very nice, but you’re forgetting three things.”
“One, we live in a tiny flat, two, you can’t play the piano, and, three, we don’t have any money!”
Tabby’s smile faded. “Well, I’m now creating my own reality through the Law of Attraction.”
“So you keep saying. I don’t see any changes.”
“The universe takes time to give you the things you ask for. They’ll come when they’re ready to come.”
“You wait and see. You want some coffee?”
“No, I’m taking Fred for a walk.”

I went down to the beach, the part dogs were allowed to crap on. There were thousands of shells along the sand – ‘jewels of the sea,’ as I regarded them. That’s one reason I liked to go there, the chance of finding a nice piece of jet, or a multi-coloured cockle shell.
I had to admit Tabby’s obsession with a book she’d bought was really getting on my tits. Apparently, according to a bunch of ghosts, ‘whatever you ask for is immediately given.’ It’s just your ‘resistance’ that stops it coming, resistance meaning negative thinking. So, by training yourself to always feel happy, according to the book you’d be inundated with castles, golf courses, swimming pools, yachts, and whatever you desired, even if you were sitting, twiddling your thumbs in the middle of the Sahara Desert. I had to admit it was the biggest load of nonsense I’d ever heard in my entire life!
I spotted an old rubber ball and hurled it into the sea for Fred. He ran to the water’s edge and looked out to where the ball was bobbing. He barked at it a few times, as if commanding it to come back to the beach, then turned and ran back. Presumably, he didn’t want to spoil his freshly groomed coat with nasty cold, salty water.

When I got back, Tabby was at the sink, her hands buried in a mass of suds. Her blonde hair was in a ponytail and she wore an emerald green tea shirt and tight faded jeans. I put my arms around her, kissed her neck and squeezed her breasts.
“Get off!”
“You know you like it. How about a trip to the bedroom?”
“How about you start looking for a proper job!”
“Or maybe I’ll just sit and meditate on abundance flowing to us!”
She turned and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m expecting a call from Sue at eleven.”
Oh, that meant Tabby and her sister gassing for the next half hour.
Sure enough, bang on eleven the phone rang.
“Hi, Sue … I’m fine, thanks … yes he is … God knows!”
I went out of the room, I wasn’t big on character assassination. I went to a desk in the corner of our bedroom where I had a computer and a shelf of books on writing. Probably the best way of making money from it, I reflected. The fiction market seemed to be saturated. No one wanted my stuff anyway.
The door opened behind me. Tabby stood, smiling.
“What’s up? Surely you haven’t finished talking!”
The smile faded a little. “No, Sue just told me that Amy’s packing in her piano lessons with half a term to go. She can’t get a refund. She asked if I’d like to take her place. They’ll lend me a keyboard!”
“Can they lend you some headphones too?”
Tabby pulled a face. “Anyway, she says Bert’s just told her that Harry’s jacking his job in, he’s had enough of garage work and getting his hands dirty.”
Bert was Tabby’s brother-in-law, the foreman at a busy garage. Harry was a twenty-something with his eyes on the bright lights.
“Can’t say as I blame him, I didn’t care for it much myself.”
“Look, Bert says they need a first-class motor mechanic urgently and he’ll recommend you. The pay’s good and he says you can work on their website too, you know, start a blog, maybe.”
Suddenly a little ray of light penetrated my heart. I could see us moving to a proper house, a nice garden for Fred to run around in. I thought for a bit, then, “Tell him yes!”
Tabby laughed and came over and hugged me. “Thank you.” She looked over at the bed and winked. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ve almost finished on the phone.”

Featured in the book, Flash Friction: To Cut a Short Story Short, vol. III: 72 Little Stories

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