Congratulations to the winner of the 2025 Prescot Festival Short Story Competition.
It really was a beautiful watch, Kate mused as she turned over the shining metal links in her hands. It felt weighty and substantial, not too flashy or trendy; “a classic” was how the jeweller had described it. “Yes”, she said to herself, “Yes, this will be just right for him.” She imagined how happy Michael would be to receive the gift for his 21st birthday, how proud to wear it. There was just one stumbling block: the price. She frowned – it was more than she earned in a month, more than she had ever spent on a gift. How could she justify the expense, even if it was for her only and much loved child? The kindly jeweller noticed her hesitation, “We do have some more affordable options, Madam…” he waved his hand vaguely over a velvet covered tray. But her mind was made up – this was the one. After all, didn’t Michael deserve the best? Why should he suffer for her lack of funds? She had always struggled to make ends meet. Michael’s father had disappeared all those years ago as soon as she told him that she was pregnant, leaving her to fend for herself ever since. Kate did some desperate mental arithmetic, calculating that she could pay the deposit now from her savings, and with some overtime and a few Ebay sales she could pay the balance in time for Michael’s birthday the following month.
A couple of weeks later, Kate returned to the shop. A bell gave an old-fashioned chime to summon the jeweller as she pushed the door open. He took the watch from a shelf and laid it carefully on the counter between them. It was just as she remembered; the clear face, the distinctive gleaming band – a sophisticated timepiece to accompany the young man on his journey into adulthood.
“Would you like it engraved, Madam?” the jeweller’s question jolted her from her reverie. “Engraved?” It hadn’t occurred to her but now that the suggestion had been made she thought it a wonderful one. “How much would that cost?” “There’s no charge for an item of this value” he soothed, “We can do up to 60 characters at no additional cost”. Kate counted the letters on her fingers and carefully dictated what she wanted to say. The jeweller wrote the agreed wording on a card and disappeared with the watch to a room at the back of the shop. When he re-emerged he showed her his handiwork, “To my beloved son Michael on his 21st birthday”, then the date in numerals. Kate beamed, it was perfect. The jeweller gently placed the watch in a small black box, lined with red satin. He snapped the lid closed and placed it in a gift bag, before handing it over to Kate. She counted out the precious notes and coins from her purse and practically skipped through the jingling door, swinging the bag as she went.
By the time she reached home, Kate’s mood had sobered. She was tired and as she turned the key to the door of her tiny, lonely flat she could already hear loud music and raised voices from the couple upstairs. She sighed. Another night of solitary TV and a microwaved ready-meal awaited. Picking up the post from the mat – more bills, no doubt- she kicked off her shoes and padded through to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. The shouting upstairs got louder and Kate switched on her radio in a futile attempt to drown it out. She longed to move away from the constant noise and unfriendly neighbours but she couldn’t. She’d lived here for over twenty years now, and it was important she stayed here, she told herself, just in case….
Kate took her cup of tea in to the living room and curled up on a chair. She reached in to the bag and felt the smooth cool outline of the small black box. She lifted it out and carefully prised open the lid. The watch gleamed at her from its plump red cushion and she allowed herself to smile back. It was just right, and Michael would love it, she was sure. She would need to keep it safe until she could surprise him with this perfect gift. The best place would be in her bedroom.
As she opened the door to the over-stuffed cupboard, she held her shoulder against it to stop the contents from tumbling out on to the floor. She inched the door open gingerly to reveal the treasures crammed inside. Every shelf was laden with parcels, all carefully wrapped in gift paper. Although some of the patterns had faded over the years, each had a beautiful and carefully handwritten label attached. The original present – a tiny teddy bear for his first Christmas – took pride of place, but there were dozens of others. Here was a toy soldier; there a football; some brightly coloured cars; a fountain pen for the year he went to senior school; a blue jumper she had knitted herself for his twelfth birthday; a CD that was popular when he turned 16; a framed photograph of Kate holding him when he was a tiny new-born. That was the only photograph she had of them together, and it was her most precious possession. There was a gift for every birthday and Christmas for the past 21 years. Twenty one years of memories and longing since she had made the heart-breaking decision to give him up. She never forgot, and she hoped that somehow, somewhere, he knew that she was thinking of him – every day, but especially on those anniversaries.
Kate tried to picture him, her son. But she didn’t know what he looked like now that he was grown. She didn’t know where they had taken him to live. She didn’t even really know his name. To Kate, he would always be what it said on the watch, her beloved son, Michael.
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