I was only in Sludgeville-on-Sea a few days.
History books say that King George made the town fashionable because the water was good for the health.
I don’t know about George’s time, but the sea avoids the shore most of the day and there’s mud as far as you can see. Every other shop is boarded up and the derelicts spew onto the streets all afternoon.
I saw the old lady in the shelter on the promenade. She was alone with a pushchair. I took her to be a grandmother on baby-minding duties until I saw the mutt sprawled out on the pram. It was some kind of terrier she’d wrapped up to save from the heat. It was on its stomach, head on paws and stared straight ahead at me, daring me to comment.
The old lady was no derelict. She shopped at Marks & Spencer and sat holding a book in one hand and a branded cup from an expensive coffeeshop in the other. Embarrassed, I strode on.
I saw her there again the following day and then the next also. Each time she had the dog, the book and the coffee cup. Not once did she move to turn a page or take a sip.
The last day of my trip I passed by and she wasn’t there. The bench was empty and I saw a small metal notice on it: ‘In loving memory of our grandmother Elsie and her dog, Terry.’ It was dated June 2015.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 