L’errore Scusabile (“The Excusable Error”)

A flash fiction story

Image of Lemon and Duke in Dublin, a visulation of what I pictured for this story (taken from www.lemonduke.com, all rights reserved)

N.B: This is taken from a earlier piece that I made in my first year of Creative Writing and partly contributed by another classmate. The orginal prompt was about misunderstanding between two people.

It was finally the day.


The city of modern Grafton Street, all alight in there multi colour display of tall street lights with a combination of bright lit shops as bustling crowds were looking for cover from the small rain storm above.

On that same street however is a small, formal diner where our small story is mostly set:

L’errore Scusabelle.

Inside the 5 table long eatery, all candlelit with their own small partners of twos was one such pairing.

Facing each other in the small hushed away left hand side of the building, a man smartly dressed in a formal black on white top jacket was taking in all of the sounds of the rain outside their shared window to his left. The pianissimo sounding Saxophonist played on the right in between his fork skeweings of steak and tomato salad.

“We chose a good day to eat you know.” he mused to his partner.

That same person, considerably smaller than him wearing a white trimmed dress but wearing her usual wayfarer shaped glasses did not look up from her own plate. Both because of her usual character and on this occasion, quiet reserve.

“Didn’t even know you could afford a place like this.” she said to herself.

“Well Morgan,” the man smiled his too perfect white teeth back at her, “Given the weather that we are in and the lack of work we both have tomorrow, it might be in our best interests for you to stay at my place for tonight. Or tomorrow at that.”

She made a small sound that resembled a chuckle but still looked aimlessly to herself.

The man, named John, lounged back on his table chair, smiling to himself at just how far he came to having a personal moment with Morgan.

Felt like only yesterday that he asked the timid member of their shared accounting division of Bank of Ireland Stilliorgan if they could go on a date together.

That’s because it was.

They had known each other for the better part of two years now, both of them existing side by side with each other as part of their boss’s leadership skills.

But still feeling confident in himself he patted the small box and returned to his plate, before quickly realising the state of his accompaniment.

“Something up?” he asked, confused but still taking his time.

Morgan, realising what scene she was in paused for a moment. Circulating just what she wanted to say, knowing just how quickly this all could come crashing down.

With a deep, closed eyed breath, she looked up facing her still feasting colleague.

“Look John…” she slowly began, the point in question creeping up slowly “You’re a nice guy for organising all of this and I know Mr Turner has said a lot of great things about your work. But… I’m pregnant with John.”

Both attendants looked at each other intensely from across the mostly silent table. Morgan felt every drop of sweat that was gradually dripping from her forehead, John looking a little spaced out.

That is until John humored:

“Hm. Figures.” he put simply and returned to his plate. Morgan looked completely stunned from across the table.

“S-sorry?” she asked hesitantly, gazing across the room for the nearest exit in case.

“We’ve known each other for a while,” he charmed smugly. “It only makes sense that it would happen to you at some point.”

With the air between them slowly diluting she felt a sense of clarity in that time.

“Oh-okay!” Morgan beamed now with an extreme sense of relief “Great! Excellent!” and without further delay, quickly pulled herself out from her table. John on the other hand raised his eyebrow.

“Where are you going?” he asked, confused

“I have to tell John the news,” she quickly replied, straightening herself up “Thank you Mr. Dunne for being so understanding.” And without a second thought clopped her high heels up to the reception, grabbed her coat and joined the night rain outside.

“Wait a sec!” John called from the table getting up to see her leave “What does our boss have to do with this?”

And then it hit him. Noticing the staff looking at him, just as perplexed he gave a nervous smile and slowly seated himself down.

Maybe throwing away the receipt to that ring wasn’t such a good idea.

4 December 2020

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Colm O'Shea

Colm O'Shea

Reader, Welcome to my personal writing blog. Enter for short stories and writing affairs. Stay for detailed essays, scripts and infrequent updates to my novels.