Thursday, 3 February 2011

A Snowy Story - Part 2 - 22nd Dec 2010

Part two of 'A Snowy Story' for your reading pleasure! If you missed it you can find part one below and more shall follow! Happy Reading!

The cold hit Molly squarely in the face.
‘Darn milk,’ she hissed into her scarf, taking her first tentative steps onto the snow.
It wasn’t a long walk to the shops but Molly knew it could be treacherous enough. The problem was that no one cleared the pathways outside their houses anymore. She could hardly be expected to, she was a woman alone after all and hardly had a shovel handy, but the others, well, it was enough to convince you that community spirit had gotten buried right there under the snow. She shook her head at number 27 in evidence of her dismay.

Molly kept her head down as she walked, her gaze fixed on the next patch of snow ahead of her. She was wearing an old hat, made of itchy grey wool that was infused with the distinctive smell that knitwear acquires on being shoved, unloved, to the back of the wardrobe for twelve months. She could feel her skin warming up at an alarming rate beneath her many layers and she suddenly though better of the forth jumper she had enthusiastically put on.  It was as Molly rounded the corner onto the high street that she found herself nose to chest with a fellow pedestrian.
‘Goodness, watch where you’re going!’ she said, taking a step back in an effort to regain her so hastily stolen personal space. The face looking down at her was wrapped in a thick black scarf, just two grey eyes peered out at her through the snowy haze.
‘Molly?’ the swaddled face said.
Molly squinted through the snow, trying to recognize the personal space intruder.
‘Yes, it’s me!’ Richard pulled his scarf from his face and smiled at her. Just the very act of removing his scarf seemed to unsteady him, causing him to reach forward and clutch her arm to regain his balance. ‘Woooh there!’ he said, laughing and still holding onto her arm.
Molly stared at his hand pointedly. Though she now knew who the offending man was she no more wanted him to be clutching her arm on the street than if he had been a perfect stranger. She had last seen Richard in early November, a pleasant autumnal day for the time of year. He had asked her to go for ‘a drink’, a glass of wine of all things, and she had accepted in what she now considered a moment of sheer madness. They had had a lovely time, as it turned out, and one glass had become two. It being one of those fancy new bars the glasses were the size of small buckets and Molly could barely fathom where she’d put it all. Richard had returned her to her house and had shaken her hand as he said goodnight, her hall light illuminating his gentle smile. He had held on to her hand for just a fraction too long, quite like he was doing now, but then she hadn’t heard from him again nor seen him until now, near on six week later.
‘I’m so sorry, Molly. Here’s me holding you up in this dreadful weather and using you as a leaning post! Can I take you for a drink?’ he said, smiling that same smile down at her.
Molly looked up at him, adjusting her hat slightly and thought, who on earth does he think he is? Before promptly saying ‘Why yes, that would be lovely.’

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