Tom, now retired, had a lot of time on his hands. Shirley was a big part of his life and every Friday, she would ask, “Something for the weekend?” He smiled and with a twinkle in his eye, he said “I think this week it shall be a trip to Pompeii, I quite fancy visiting an archaeological site this weekend. Perhaps they have discovered something new since I was there… it must be twenty years now,” he remarked. Shirley smiled, “Pompeii it is so, another adventure.”
The following Friday, Shirley asked the same question, “Something for the weekend?” Tom laughed, “This weekend will be special, let’s celebrate romance, no judgement, no unrealistic expectations, just togetherness and all for love.” Again, Shirley smiled and announced, “Romance it is then, will we just need the three days, or shall more be required?” “No, three days is quite sufficient,” Tom was quite adamant.
“Friday again Tom, another something for the weekend?”
“You know Shirley, you may have to change that question.”
“Why?… Is this weekend out?” She seemed puzzled.
“No, not at all Shirley, my dear, I read that, that very question was a euphemism heard in barber shops, in the late 19th century in England, of course they did end it with ‘Sir’”
“I’ll Sir you, she laughed, yes, I read that myself, they protected many. Their pole is a symbol of some of the work they did, minor surgeries, bloodletting and dentistry, red for blood, blue for veins and white for bandages. Thankfully, it’s just haircuts these days. It’s a three-day weekend, this week, will there be visits to Barber shops?”
“No, not this weekend, I’ve little hair to maintain. All this talk of cuts and blood, is pointing me in the direction of a good murder mystery weekend.”
“That certainly can be arranged…Sir,” Shirley added with a laugh. “A mystery weekend, a murder, a clever detective and a trail of clues. I have one in mind, I believe it’s murder, mystery and mayhem till the very end.”
“Excellent, Shirley, a murder mystery to challenge my mind and heighten my senses, perfect. I’ll piece it together, wait till you see. Next weekend it shall be a play, one of your choices. Shakespeare, Seán O Casey, Brendan Behan, Marina Carr? New works, perhaps?”
“How about a trip around Ireland to relive old haunts?” Shirley suggested.
“Your pick Shirley, why don’t you think about it and surprise me,” Tom suggested as his eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Oh, Tom, you might regret it, ‘Waiting for Godot,’ ‘Pygmalion’ and ‘Country girls’ are already circulating around my mind.”
“What can of worms, have I opened? I may live to regret this, but I gave my promise and I will stand by it, you seldom lead me on a wrong path. In the last year you have helped me go on many adventures.”
Tom appreciated Shirley, she was always there every Friday with a big smile, awaiting Tom’s next adventure. He had great admiration and respect for the young woman. They had conversed so much in the last year since his early retirement, and shared so much laughter.
Shirley had come to know that each weekend was an escape, a mystery, an adventure, a romance waiting to be explored. Their silent tradition, a shared secret between them, making each weekend magical. Just as Shirley knew that one day, she might not get to ask that question, “Something for the weekend?” or one Monday, the book might not be returned.
Jacqui Wiley
01/09/2024
