Southend U3A

Writing for Fun

January 2015

Life Is . . . A Peach - Maureen Rampersaud


Every Friday, since I was a child, my dear, darling dad brought me one home and I loved them. The soft, furriness of the skin, the delicate fragrance, the rich red outside and amber gold inside, and finally . . . the taste, so glorious and unlike anything else. What was that banquet of the senses? A peach, of course!

Dad would watch me, full of love, as I took each delicious bite, taking his handkerchief to mop up the juice running down my chin.

'All the way from Greece those beauties have travelled, just to delight you, my best girl!' I believed him, I was wrapped in the warmth and security of his love.

I think I married Gary because he promised to grow me peaches. He was quite nice, let's face it, nobody was going to measure up to my dad. So I thought, well at least he knew the way to my heart. I watched him as he planted the peach tree. To be honest, he didn't seem to take much care, breaking roots and stamping about. When I tactfully suggested this, he shouted at me and said some very hurtful things with an acidity that hadn't been there before we were married.

I retreated to the other side of the garden and noticed our neighbour's plot for the first time. Neat rows of vegetables, beautiful flowers and the greenest grass I'd ever seen was an impressive spectacle. A youngish man was kneeling down, totally absorbed in his task. I wished Gary had that devotion, then I felt rather guilty and ungrateful.

I knew I would divorce Gary when he dumped his first peach in front of me with some sort of growl and I bit into it . . . it was rotten inside. I bought him out and sent him packing with relief. Living alone is preferable to living with a poisonous partner.

I needed a holiday and decided on Greece. It had crossed my mind that I might taste a peach as wonderful as those of my childhood. So, I headed for Northern Greece, Macedonia in fact, where I heard the best were grown. I enjoyed the sun and the playfulness of the Greek men, but although I tasted many peaches, I still found them wanting.

Back home, I walked down the garden to inspect the ailing peach tree.

'Hello there!' It was the man next door. I approached the fence, expecting a tirade about weeds encroaching on his plot.

'Sorry to bother you, but I noticed you have a peach tree. Unless you change the soil it's growing in, the shell of the kernel won't harden and it'll decay inside.'

' What's wrong with it?'

'Too much acid.'

I laughed and thought of Gary. My neighbour, John, looked at me quizzically, so I explained and we got chatting. His wife had died suddenly and gardening had saved him. Abruptly he ran away and I wondered what I'd said, but he reappeared with something in his hand. He carefully folded back the corners of his handkerchief to reveal a perfect, large red skinned peach. He offered it to me with shining eyes.

'Taste that.'

I took it, stroked it, smelled it's unmistakable aroma and finally bit into it. The flavour exploded on my tongue like a fireball of pleasure. He offered me his handkerchief, I didn't know if it was for the juice on my chin or the tears rolling down my cheeks, but I did know that he was the man for me.