LAMP

You stared at the lamp when you came back, almost as if lost for words.

“Isn’t it wonderful,” I said.
“It’s something,” you agreed. 
I wondered if you wanted it moved to a more central position.  I wasn’t sure how I’d make it stand out better, in the lounge you had so tastefully furnished in your minimalist style.  Those matching chocolate coloured sofas, the beige carpet and soft focus photographs in medleys of browns and creams.

 

Every time you went into the lounge you’d glance at the lamp.  You once asked me if I wanted to attract both magpies and bees and how I laughed.  The lamp has sparkly glass beads in all colours on the stem and the shade has a stripy floral pattern in pinks and purples offset with tufts of magenta lace and a pretty yellow fringe.  It brings a touch of me to our new house.

 

One day I heard you yell and rushed to the lounge.  You were sitting by the lamp, nursing your toe.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I tripped, fell into the lamp and stubbed my toe on it.”
“But you could have knocked it over!”
“The base was too solid.  It swayed a bit, but wouldn’t tip over.”
“It saved you from crashing into the wall,” I pointed out, my love for the lamp doubling.

 

You usually leave switching on the lamp to me, but one time you flicked the switch and screamed – an electric shock!  I sent it to the shop to get examined.  It was gone for days, but they could find nothing wrong.  I bought new, brighter bulbs for its homecoming.  When you entered the lounge, you put sunglasses on, making me laugh.

“It’s like those people who put Christmas lights outside their houses,” you muttered, “but all the year round.”
“I know,” I agreed, “Christmas every day!”

 

The night of the burglary was dreadful.  You’d taken me to my favourite restaurant and when we returned the Police were there.  They’d seen torchlight through the windows and had caught your best friend Anthony trying to get the lamp out the back door.  You cried so much that night while I held you in my arms.  “I can’t believe they caught Anthony,” you wept.

“I can’t believe it was him either,” I said, but I could.  When Anthony had first seen it, he’d said; “Nice lamp,” in a snarky tone that could only be jealousy.

We were lucky to survive the fire.  You woke me just in time for us to escape through the back door.  We watched the fire crew tackle the blaze from the garden.  Afterwards, it turned out there had been something wrong with the lamp after all.  I was surprised I didn’t notice that the outer wire had been pared down.

You put your head in your hands and I hugged you; “We’re safe, that’s the main thing.”

 

Well, I wrote to the shop and complained.  They were very sorry, paid compensation and sent us a gift on the day we moved back into the house.  A replica of my beautiful lamp, with a certificate saying it had passed a safety test.