The Apple-Tree Throne

by Premee Mohamed

Laughter was better than bread, we used to say; it could be shared infinitely amongst the squad, and it did not have weevils in it.

“I say, don’t mind me asking, but you… do you…believe in…” “A reasonable rate of return? Yes.” “No — “ “That redheads are inevitably trouble? Yes.” “Well, yes, but in — “ “That the ladies at the next table are looking at you with disreputable intention?” “Are they? Oh dear, there’s no accounting for taste.” I shake my head. “In ghosts.”

“I like magpies,” Greene says. “I know most folks don’t. How’s the rhyme go again?” “One for trouble, two for tears,” I say. “I suppose it’s not their fault. Three for courage, four for fears…” “Five for a journey, six for a home, seven for a ha’nt doomed ever to roam.