A piece of flash fiction about a 1930s map of Sussex:
When Stephen bought the map, he asked the shop manager if it
could be wrapped. It was an unusual
request, half inch maps were rarely bought as gifts. But the act of purchasing the item had made
his customer look rapturous, and it was infectious. Why not wrap a map? Happy customers returned for more.
The rectangular brown package, tied up with delicate string,
went home with Stephen in the inside pocket of his overcoat. He felt it against his breast as he hung from
a strap on the tube. He held it to his chest as he jogged up the five flights
of stairs to the flat. He swung through
the front door and dodged the line of damp nappies and stockings. They were
strung across the tiny lobby, absorbing the odour of frying potatoes. Without
stopping to remove his coat, Stephen skipped into the tiny kitchen, where his
wife stood at the gas stove. It was
taking all of Vera’s attention to stop the potatoes from sticking to the
pan. Her hair hung limply over her
shoulders, she yawned and stretched as he approached.
“Good day dear?” It was her automatic greeting.
“Marvellous!
Fantastic! Superb!”
Vera put her old cooking spoon into the pan and properly
looked at her husband.
“Was it?”
“Here. Turn the gas
off a mo and open your present.” He
produced the package from his coat pocket.
Vera took it from him and carefully sliced through the string
with her potato knife. She gave him the
empty wrapping and turned over the map.
“A map of Sussex
He gave her a set of co-ordinates, scribbled in pencil on a
torn edge of a newspaper. With her
rambling experience, she found the spot within seconds.
“The Arundel cottage?”
He nodded. “It’s ours!
Our new home in the country. Hot
and cold running and hikes every weekend without the need for transport.”
Vera clutched the map to her apron, while Stephen searched
the scullery for that bottle of stout.
Twitter: @VintageMapLady
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