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Danny gave a sorry little snort. ‘You mean when we had more hair on our heads, and naughty tattoos proudly across our chests and a woman on each arm?’ He sighed at the memories. ‘Now the girls have moved on, and the tattoos are sagging.’ His voice dropped as he added sombrely, ‘Just like everything else if you know what I mean?’
‘Oh, but I do.’ John lapsed into silence. ‘I really am worried about the future,’ he admitted eventually.
‘How could we have been so stupid? We should have made plans for our old age. We’ve been enjoying ourselves too much, that’s why!’
‘We’ve only ourselves to blame. We’ve never earned much but what we had we spent. Still, what’s done is done and we can’t ever turn the clock back. It’s no use grumbling about it! Instead, we should be thanking our lucky stars that we’ve been able to enjoy life and still be as healthy as we are. Look on the bright side, we’ve got good jobs and a regular wage. And though we’ve left it a bit late we are now, at last, starting to think about the future.’
‘Not every working man is as fortunate as us. Look at poor Len Waterman. He’s a year or two younger than us, but he’s so crippled with arthritis he can hardly get along. Fate can be so cruel. If he hadn’t fallen off that roof, he might have been working alongside us even yet. But he seems to get worse as the days pass. More’s the pity.’
‘But by God, don’t the years just fly by. Even when we were in our forties we had enough knowledge to start our own business. We should have taken the bull by the horns back then,’ John said quietly. ‘You’re right, Danny Boy. We’ll just have to concentrate on what we’ve actually achieved and not dwell on what we’ve lost. Who knows, we might yet give another thought to the idea of setting up in our own business? We can make a success of it if that’s what we aim for. ’
Both men felt uplifted to have discussed most of the matters that had been weighing heavily on their minds. They squared their shoulders and put a spring in their step as they continued along the Promenade, ready and raring to set about the day’s workload.
Taking a grubby old handkerchief from his trouser pocket, John slapped it across his nose and blew hard. ‘Dammit, I reckon I’ve got a cold coming on.’ He moaned under his breath, before blowing his nose again. ‘Look there! Do you see that tired old woman across the way? Poor old bugger, she’s been lumbered with that huge bag … no doubt filled to the brim with kids’ stuff, all dumped on her by her family. Really struggling she is.’
Danny stole a glance at the woman. ‘Bless her old heart. I’m sorely tempted to go and help her. She looks well and truly done in, so she does.’
John produced from his overalls pocket a piece of paper on which was scrawled a list of tasks for the week, some already crossed off. ‘Come on, matey! We’d best crack on. No time for rescuing damsels in distress, and look her family are catching her now. I wouldn’t mind betting she’s got a little dram o’whisky hidden inside that bag. The crafty old devil.’ He gave a deep-throated chuckle, before waving the list under Danny’s nose. ‘I expect you’ll want to start on her first?’ He gestured in the direction of the Blue Bench. ‘She’s looking a bit weathered of late, don’t you think?’ John strode on, clutching his list and grumbling as he went to his own tasks, leaving the bench to Danny.
He paused to admire her, ‘She’s like an old friend,’ he murmured, ‘this place would never be the same without her. And you’re right … she does seem to be looking a bit worse for wear, but you can’t blame the old girl for looking worn out. Not when she’s facing the elements twenty-four hours a day, year in year out.’ He chuckled loudly, ‘In some ways, she’s a bit like us, don’t you think? Forging onwards, whatever the weather throws at us, and just like her, we’ve learned to stand strong against the elements. I’d love to know what her story is.’
When Danny looked up at the Blue Bench, his ready smile faltered and his heart seemed to flip over. It couldn’t be … Surely not! The lovely Marie Foster sitting on the bench – alone.
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