A Walk on the Orme

Another piece of constricted writing – 200 words with a picture of a park bench as the imposed trigger.

The path, on the back, easy end of the Orme, curves round and every few feet a wooden park bench, many with a small engraved sign, this one says simply
“For Bob, who loved this place”

The older woman and I sit, staring out at the sea, so blue that you could believe you were somewhere better, warmer than this no longer fashionable welsh sea-side town.

“This was his favorite spot” she says and I smile, trying to strike that balance between politeness and my desire to be left alone.

“Of course, he could be difficult, not always easy”

And we exchange a glance, female co-conspirators, having the full measure of our men, of all men.

” Yes” she continues ” he was always a bugger for sticks”

I look at her properly for the first time, sensible shoes, anorak [ in case the weather changes] , right hand just below her knee to pet an invisible companion.

I stand, continue my solo climb the the summit.

I turn once and see her stroke the place where the dog should be.

It starts to rain.


About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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