Under the Pier
My older sisters were both stunningly pretty. I claimed awkwardness and the sort of shy cleverness that upsets most people.
‘Look out for each other,’ Mum would call as we left for the beach. As if.
He looked after the dodgems noon until midnight, breaks around four and eight. Sometimes I met him for both. My cheek against his ribcage, I’d listen to his heart. He smelt of sweat and damp caravans.
‘Reckon she fancies him,’ one sister quipped and the other flicked back her hair. They turned and as he winked I licked the salty taste of summertime from my chapped lips.
Miranda Lewis 2020
Welcome to Friday Fiction where, as we hunker down in the Northern hemisphere to our various (vastly curtailed) mid-winter festivities, a gentle summer breeze blew through my sitting room. For more salty tales from around the globe click here.
Thanks as ever to our host Rochelle whose story definitely inspired mine this week. What is it about fairgrounds and pleasure gardens, throughout time and location, that allow their visitors to cross class barriers and other taboos?
Thanks also to Roger Bultot for the phot and to all who visit, most especially those who stay to comment.