The Story So Far
One river one bridge and many memories
Les has spent some time now searching for material for his Best Seller, his phone ringing wakes him from a somewhat restless night. Whoever the caller nothing must distract him from the task in hand. A few curt words and he replaces the receiver, takes a quick shower, an even quicker breakfast, walks into his study, picks up a pen, the time for action has come.
It was as if some compelling force was at work. There had been this insatiable urge to return; to return to the spot that held so many memories. Les stood there transfixed. His eyes taking in the whole picture that all those years ago were a familiar sight. Little had changed; the Stoke River, as he always called it, still ambled along as it did some sixty odd years ago. It wasn't a deep river, neither was it very wide. Just an ordinary little river running through the heart of the Norfolk countryside. To Les it was special and so too was the Bridge; very special.
He had known this little spot as a child. How often had he been there, swimming and fishing. And later, as a young man, he had found romance there with someone who was to play a very significant part in his life. Yes, he remembered Anne with great affection, and the many hours they had spent together sitting on the river bank planning their future. Walking a few steps towards the Bridge tears welled up in his eyes as the memories of yesteryear came flooding back. As in those days, unable to kill a habit of a lifetime, Les reached for his favourite cigarette. On reflection he was surprised they still made them, but they did. He inhaled deeply, trying desperately to retain his composure. He could see Anne in his mind just as clearly as if she was there. How well he remembered that she had enjoyed her work as Secretary to an Editor of a highly acclaimed Magazine. Les, with ambitions to become an Author of some note, regularly contributed to the same Magazine, and quickly e established a close working relationship with the Editor; a suave and sophisticated man who's dress sense was a constant source of amazement.
The grassy bank that had drawn Les all those years ago again beckoned and he sank to his knees. But this time it was all so different, this time there was no Anne. He was alone and, as the River wandered slowly on as it had always done, so he found his mind too was wandering. His whole life started to flash before him. His life was not about to come to an end it was again just starting. He was back to his childhood.
Les (author incarnate) Lawrence