St. Swithin’s Day

The found couple sat on the bench, holding hands. A July summer English seafront. They were amongst screeching children, feral dogs, and the smell of fresh doughnuts.

Old now and rugged up against the wind, they resembled a monument. Both were frightened of talking in case of being misunderstood. A seagull swooped above them and sang falsetto, looking for chips.

“I’m sorry Terry. It was the mistake of my life.”

“Did you love him Julie?”

“No. Just his money and his dreams. It was a long time ago. I was a fool. It should have been you. Do your coat up, it’s getting chilly. Here, I’ll help you.”

“Thank you puffin.”

“God. You remember that! What a silly thing.”

“You used to call me pudding. Your pudding.”

“Such silly names for each other.”

“We were in love.”

“It was sixty years ago.”

“Yes.”

They walked to the bus stop. Orphans to the coming storm of tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. It had started to rain and they clinched each other in the pitter patter.

“This is my bus Terry.”

“Oh”

“It’s been lovely seeing you, after all this time. Thank heavens for Facebook.”

“I love you puffin.”

“Don’t cry Terry. Please. We’re old now. We shouldn’t behave like this. Such a fuss.”

“Please let me come with you. Please. I have nothing left, just my heart.”

“Just memories Terry. That’s all.”

“Please!”

She gave a sigh of love.

“Ohh. Come on then. You big pudding.”