Pyg

SKULKING IN SHADOWS OF THE PAST

A sense of melancholy weighed heavy on me as I stood in the front garden of the only home I’d known as a child. Despite the warm spring day, a strong smell of damp earth and decomposing leaves filled the air. The vibrant flowerbeds our mother had once tended were now choked with weeds, and the hedges surrounding the property formed a twisted, impenetrable mass which cast long, dark shadows.

I glanced at my watch; Bernard was over twenty minutes late. I hadn’t wanted to be here alone, that’s why I’d asked him to come all the way from London. But I should’ve guessed at Bernard’s tardiness and planned accordingly. I paced the broken concrete path that led to the front door and kicked a chunk of moss.

“Shit!” I said when it left a muddy mark on my new leather brogues. I bent and brushed the dirt away. They’d cost me a decent chunk of my first pay packet, but a respectable teacher should have a nice pair of shoes. And that’s just what I was now, a respectable teacher. Pride swelled in my chest at the thought.