Coral Cardigan MARGARET GRANT

Margaret Grant

Coral Cardigan

Draped across the back of your bedroom chair, your coral coloured cardigan awaits your return. In your wardrobe, a plum faux leather jacket, soft to the touch, several blazers and several more cardigans. The wardrobe in the spare room holds shirts and blouses, jeans and trousers. There are drawers of lambswool sweaters - merino and cashmere too - neatly folded tops in a variety of styles and colours. Two drawers full of hats. Winter coats and raincoats hang in the press under the stairs. Come back and wear them. Don't let them wait in vain.

I was with you when you bought that coral cardigan. The last time we'd been to Blarney Woollen Mills together, and I was torn between a charcoal Aran-knit and an oatmeal wrap around. You’d insisted on buying both for me. So the day you bought that coral cardigan, I refused to try anything on. I didn't want to take advantage of your generosity.

The coral cardigan was a little large for you, but they didn't have a smaller size. I encouraged you to buy it anyway. It suited you so well. The colour complemented your hair. You bought a scarf and woolly hat that day too. You never left a shop with just one item.

I always fancied that cardigan. If you never get out of the hospital, I suppose, I could lay claim to it. But I don't want to. It wouldn't suit me as well as it does you, and I'd much rather see you in it again.

You have always taken such an interest in me and all my sundry undertakings. You have been so very good to me and so very good for me. I have basked in the glow of your attention, flourished in your regard. I am not yet ready to do without you. I am not ready to be without you. Please come back. For me and for all the clothes that wait in your wardrobes and chests of drawers, and the coral coloured cardigan draped across the back of your bedroom chair.