She picked at the pull in the sleeve. Pulling the loop of wool through to the inside of the sleeve, she wondered how many more repairs she could make. The pockets had been replaced with complimentary coloured patch pockets, the binding had been replaced, round the edges of the sleeves the collar and front and the back hem.
Jean didn't want to throw the cardigan out, she'd had it for so long she couldn't remember when she'd been given it or by whom. It had been her comfort on dark days, warmed her on cold, sad days. It was part of her, even Lucien said it had Jean written all over it, and, when she was out, or in Adelaide he would pick it up and smell it and touch it and sometimes wrap it round him, as best he could, just to be close to her.
She sighed.
'Problem, my love?' Lucien asked.
'It's just this old cardigan,' She held it up, 'I've had it so long, and it's a bit like an old friend. I don't want to throw it out but it's more repair that substance.'
'I'm sure you can do something with it.' And he returned to his paper.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Making sure Jean was out of sight he put the parcel on the kitchen table and shouted through that he was going to the station and would be back later.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jean took the armful of laundry through to the kitchen. It was laundry day and there was a lot to do. She dropped the linen next to the washer and turned to the table, planning a cup of tea, once she had got the twin tub going. She noticed the parcel and, thinking it was one Lucien wanted posting to Li in Hong Kong she went over to it. She was surprised to read the label:
'Mrs Jean Blake, to be opened in a quiet moment, with a cup of tea.'
She put the bed clothes in the washer, made her tea and sat looking at the parcel. It was obvious it was from Lucien, in spite of the typed label.
She cut the string holding the paper round it and put it to one side, taking the paper off, and folding it she took out and shook the contents. A slip of paper fell on to the table.
'Put me on and put your hands in the pockets, left then right.' She put on the item and felt in the pockets. In the left pocket was another slip of paper,
'I may not be the same but I will still keep you warm.' and in the right pocket, 'I will always love you, and when I am not here these are my arms around you. L.'
It was so close to the same colour and style of the old cardigan; that would never be thrown out; and she knew he had gone to some lengths to find it for her, she loved it and him even more.
Wiping the tears from her eyes she thought, 'silly beggar,' and sipped her tea, with his arms around her.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Just a little ditty, for your amusement.