SOMETHING BLUE         

When she stopped sleeping with her husband, she decided to paint the bedroom blue. It was a colour he would never have tolerated: he was all yellow, or, at a pinch, salt-white. But that old, cold, custard shade of vanilla would not do anymore.

            She bought a dark, chalky shade of blue; the exact colour of a Mediterranean dusk. She did wonder whether it would be ridiculously dark when she opened the tin. But it was too late by then, and she carried on anyway, smearing the paint, which had a thick chocolatey smell, across the walls.  It was perfect. Why did this appeal so much, she wondered?  She woke to a warm blue illuminated by the morning sun. Slept in its soft, calm embrace.

            What would go with this deep, rich blue? The house was old and the proportions of the room were generous. Tall sash windows let in an overwhelming light. She chose white linen for the bed, and rich gold velvet for the cushions. For the first time in her life, it seemed, she had some power over her surroundings. Often, a woman’s life seemed to be based on unsatisfying compromises. But this was her room now.

            She filled vases with golden flowers and lit a candle at night; sat up reading until the early hours. The bliss of blue. She wondered why it had taken her so long to find this path. When her husband popped in one day to see her about something, he stood for a moment by the open bedroom door, peering awkwardly in. She wished he would go away.

            ‘Blue? That’s different.’

            He seemed to be looking at her with a newfound wariness.

            ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It certainly is.  I should have done it years ago.’

(longlisted for Mslexia Flash Fiction competition 2021)