It’s not actually my bench, but I’m here every day, rain or shine. Henry would miss me if I didn’t come, and I’d miss our little chats. If I talk to him anywhere else they’ll put me in a nursing home, and I’m not going – can’t bear the smell of those places.
So it was shock to find a young man sprawled out on it – sunbathing, no less – and I was a bit sharp with him. I was sorry then because he looked about to run off, so I patted the bench beside me and offered him a biscuit.
Unemployed, of course, but he’d been trying. Trouble was, he hadn’t gone about it systematically. Sitting there, we drew up a plan. He’s promised to come back next week and report progress.
I told Henry all about him – he’s a good listener. Nor surprising really – he can’t say much from six feet under.