Short Stories by Ruth Maxwell

Visiting the Post Office.    A Soliloquy                    

The hill gets steeper every time I totter up it.   Thank goodness for that bench half way up.   I must have sat there for 10 minutes this morning, getting my breath back.   I wanted to slip my shoes off, but I’ve done that once before, and then couldn’t get them back on.   Had to ask a woman walking by for help.   She was that kind, but I was so embarrassed.   I can see the Post Office now, just across the road, and a bit higher up.   For the third time, I check that my Pension Book is in my bag, and wait at the Zebra crossing for the lights to change.   A nice woman, waiting too, smiles at me, and I smile back gratefully.   Living alone in my tiny flat, I don’t get to talk to many people.   My weekly trip to the Post office is the big event of my week.   Sometimes the girl behind the counter is the only person I talk to.   But today I’m lucky, the nice lady asks if I need help crossing the road, and, linking my arm, walks me over to the other side of the road.   She chatters too, about the weather, and how we need rain.   I have to concentrate on my walking though; each step is so painful, so I haven’t the breath to answer her.   But I smile, and manage a”Thank You” as she leaves me.   And I totter on towards the Post Office.                                       

It was when I was there, I see, to my horror, that my handbag is open.   And I quickly search inside it.   Yes, my Pension Book is still there, but.   But.   My purse isn’t.   I cry out, clutch the counter, and feel all faint. 

 I’ve never been behind the scenes at the Post Office before, didn’t know they had a cosy room for the girls to relax in.   The cup of tea they give me is so welcome, hot and very sweet.   Even a chocolate biscuit.

“Would you like us to call the Police? “they ask me.

Oh no” I say.   “There was only £1.25 in it, what was left from last weeks pension.   And the purse was very old.   My granddaughter gave me a lovely leather one for my birthday.   I can start using that now.”

I’ve even had a lift home by one of the girls   Chloe, her name is, and she says she’ll look out for me next Tuesday.   And she asked if she came to visit me, would I give her a cup of tea.   The beam I gave her in reply was enormous.

So really, all’s well that ends well.   And, thankfully, I ease off my shoes, and go for a lie down.