Pearl

On a plane to Belfast, the middle-aged lady sitting next to me wants to talk.  She has cropped dark hair and a strong Northern Irish accent.  I hear about her recent trip to Reykyavik, the importance of good friends and the girl who broke her eldest son's heart.  'I liked her right enough like', she says, 'but it was me who had to pick up the pieces'.

As we arrive, I tell her about my project.  'Oh dear', she says, 'mine's rather old-fashioned'.  She was named after her aunt.  'I bet you haven't had that one before'.  I tell her I haven't.  'Precious as a pearl', she says with a hint of sarcasm before wishing me a happy weekend.