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Every Tuesday for the last thirty four years, since Eileen lost her Johnny, they had lunched together at the brasserie on the first floor of the RSL in Spring Street. Regular as clockwork they were. Eileen would hop the 352 over from Enmore and Pat would hail the 380 as it chugged up the hill from the beach. It was only a few blocks, but even that was more than she could bear nowadays.
Being widowed so young was a great shock for Eileen, and having two littlies to feed and clothe was a tough road to hoe. It was alright for Pat, her Harry was still pottering around down the back shed doing God knows what. And no matter how long Pat moaned, he had been a good provider. Doing lunch was the glue in their friendship. Yes, they were sisters, but what they had was more than that.
4 comments:
WOW. I wish there were more to your story, but my heart says "ENOUGH".
Very convincing. Great stuff!
I love the punch line at the end ... made me look at the image again ... they do look like sisters.
Funny thing sisters, there is the glue but also the freedom to wrankle each other. You've captured that in your story.
And here I think all the names are time-appropriate mainly because I don't bring the next generation into it.
I did 8 Riffs in the two days before I went to Melbourne. Quite a challenge. Now to branch out a bit more.
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