Abandoning my car in the snow one morning, I decided to wander into town along the seafront rather than wait for the thaw. I had an appointment with an estate-agent to keep in Deal and it's probably what stopped me digging a little deeper into that skip I stumbled upon in the driveway of the abandoned old people's home on Wellington Parade.
Dusting the snow from the top, I sifted through piles of old books and Readers Digest magazines, picking out an Isaac Asimov paperback and a set of Agatha Christie novels bound up in white string. Upturned jigsaw puzzles and an assortment of board-game pieces were strewn carelessly over a mountain of empty spectacle cases and boiled sweet tins. From these I fished out a plastic roulette wheel and a Frank Sinatra LP, before removing my glove and taking out a tiny lead figure of a motor-car and a misplaced napkin-ring from the emptied inlay of a Monopoly box.
I slipped the brass ring and the car into my coat pocket and hid my other finds underneath a torn floral clothed armchair to pick-up on my return.
I arrived at the meeting-point about fifty minutes later where a young woman in a titled red beret was waiting for me outside in her car. The first apartment she showed me was on the lower-ground floor of a large and imposing Edwardian building that overlooked the Castle in glimpses. The flat was unfurnished but we could both smell the last years of its previous owner and our conversation was sparse as she drove me to the next property on Beach Street, an attic apartment I struggled to reach from the stairs.
Finished, I bought some provisions on the high street and found myself thinking about my lost cat, missing for more than a month as I passed the pet store.
Escaping the bitter east wind blowing down the seafront, I stopped at The Bohemian before contemplating the walk home. Drinking black coffee with a brandy shot, I stared out at the pier opposite and the green soup sea before someone interrupted my thoughts.
Reaching for my lighter to give to the stranger, it came out of my pocket with the napkin-ring. Stuck to it was a small scrap of paper, I hadn't seen when I'd claimed it. The writing was faint but, holding it up in the light, I could see the name 'Edith'.
The light was fading by the time I reached the skip on my return. I'd slipped a few times on the ice but on each occasion, managed to stay on my feet. The books and the roulette wheel were all still safe under the old chair and the 'Thanet Waste' skip covered in a thick mattress of snow. I put the things back carefully, along with the lead racing car and Edith's ring that I pushed deep down into the snow.
Walking the rest of the way home in the dark, I thought about the long winter nights that lay ahead of me and how lucky I was that I had someone to share them with.
Dusting the snow from the top, I sifted through piles of old books and Readers Digest magazines, picking out an Isaac Asimov paperback and a set of Agatha Christie novels bound up in white string. Upturned jigsaw puzzles and an assortment of board-game pieces were strewn carelessly over a mountain of empty spectacle cases and boiled sweet tins. From these I fished out a plastic roulette wheel and a Frank Sinatra LP, before removing my glove and taking out a tiny lead figure of a motor-car and a misplaced napkin-ring from the emptied inlay of a Monopoly box.
I slipped the brass ring and the car into my coat pocket and hid my other finds underneath a torn floral clothed armchair to pick-up on my return.
I arrived at the meeting-point about fifty minutes later where a young woman in a titled red beret was waiting for me outside in her car. The first apartment she showed me was on the lower-ground floor of a large and imposing Edwardian building that overlooked the Castle in glimpses. The flat was unfurnished but we could both smell the last years of its previous owner and our conversation was sparse as she drove me to the next property on Beach Street, an attic apartment I struggled to reach from the stairs.
Finished, I bought some provisions on the high street and found myself thinking about my lost cat, missing for more than a month as I passed the pet store.
Escaping the bitter east wind blowing down the seafront, I stopped at The Bohemian before contemplating the walk home. Drinking black coffee with a brandy shot, I stared out at the pier opposite and the green soup sea before someone interrupted my thoughts.
Reaching for my lighter to give to the stranger, it came out of my pocket with the napkin-ring. Stuck to it was a small scrap of paper, I hadn't seen when I'd claimed it. The writing was faint but, holding it up in the light, I could see the name 'Edith'.
The light was fading by the time I reached the skip on my return. I'd slipped a few times on the ice but on each occasion, managed to stay on my feet. The books and the roulette wheel were all still safe under the old chair and the 'Thanet Waste' skip covered in a thick mattress of snow. I put the things back carefully, along with the lead racing car and Edith's ring that I pushed deep down into the snow.
Walking the rest of the way home in the dark, I thought about the long winter nights that lay ahead of me and how lucky I was that I had someone to share them with.
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