Vulgar Things

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I walk away in disgust, children looking at me, shielding themselves behind their mothers’ legs.

‘DO-GOODER!’

I turn to look at the woman who shouts this at me. Her sour face is contorted in a tight fist of hate, her fingers pointing at me. I smile after a moment or two when I realise that her face is stuck like that and is not a result of my actions. She moves forward from her pram to give me the Vs. I smile again, knowing this will aggravate her more than her own tired old gesture aggravates me. I turn and carry on walking down the High Street towards the seafront. At Royal Terrace I find a bench to sit on, overlooking the pier and the estuary. Uncle Rey loved Southend Pier. He loved its history. He used to bring me here to see it when I was young, I don’t remember when, or how many times to be exact, maybe only the once, I don’t know. We’d walk all the way together to the very end – the longest pleasure pier in the world – to see the bell. We’d never get the train to the end, we’d always walk there and back. I loved it out there on the pier, above the sea and the mud. I decide that after I’ve been to the safety deposit box I’ll walk along the pier to see the bell, in memory of Uncle Rey if nothing else.

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