I heard him before I saw him, running towards me down St David’s Road. I couldn’t make out his face it was too dark, but his hair was black, he was tall and thin and didn’t wear a coat. Excuse me, he called. Hello, can you help me? Oh, no, I thought (hating to talk to people when out walking , lost in my selfish bubble of thoughts) what can he want? Can you tell me where I can find the Four Seasons Budget? It took me a while to orient myself. What and where is that? Oh, yes it’s that cheap hotel where my niece stayed once, though I’ve never heard it called ‘budget’ before. I managed to cobble together some directions, though I don’t think he heard. I’ve been man-handled, he said. What? I had no idea what he was talking about, though he did seem a little distressed. Had he been raped? I’ve been man-handled by a woman and now she has thrown me out. What could I say? I’m sorry. I gave him the directions again – don’t forget to turn turn right at the bakery – and he scuttled off.
One of the Kray twins have been killed. Ronnie, the hunter, has been run over. She stopped him to tell him yesterday. She must be devastated. She’s had them five years, he said.
She’s been moved to a local community hospital. She is getting better, though he’s not sure if she can walk yet. Her husband is deteriorating fast. They, her sons and his, are looking for a home for them both. I am sad for her and for him. They were so much in love, he said. And she is so private a person. And she loved her home. I am sorry.
I heard voices from the sea, disembodied voices. It’s really not so bad, said a woman. A couple of indistinct hunched figures sat by a fire on the beach. While the soft sounds of the end of summer came from the whispers of two boys on a bench at the end of North Road. No one shouted.
There is a mist this morning. The sun is trying to come out.
