THE TRAFFIC WARDENS' ARMS Part 7 (CONCLUSION)

Ted and Vi walked up to the closed wig tunnel that Sunday afternoon. KEEP CLOSED TO PREVENT FIRE read the sign surrounded by graffiti on the metal panels at the Dementias Close end. It was a shame he thought, but he knew it was for the best. He’d suggested their walk so he could try and devise parts of questions for next week’s quiz by making anagrams out of the graffiti. Vi had enthusiastically agreed, but now he held her close, squeezing her shuddering shoulders with a consoling arm, as she sobbed convulsively in empathy with his prior sentiments about the tunnel. They both railed at the insensitivity of the vandals who defaced the panels, Ted rather guiltily as he mentally juggled, rearranging misspelled obscenities.
‘There’s no point stopping them.’ Vi cried. ‘That meeting proved that.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘They’ll only do it all over again, the bleeders!’
‘Still, it’s not right is it?’
‘Oh well, it’s the way they’re brought up nowadays.’
‘Maybe, but you and I were brought up differently. Weren’t we?’
‘Yes, we were, we were. That’s true.’
Their eyes glazed over with their rose-tinted reminiscences, their vision blurred in and out of focus, focussing on each other in a mood of lovey-dovey nostalgia.
‘Never mind, eh, love,’ she abruptly lightened the tone. ‘Let’s concentrate on what we’ve got going for us, and the future, of course.’
Some days before, Vi had received a clothing catalogue filled with designs incorporating cross-sections of cucumbers. They couldn’t wait to see how she’d look in the outfits she’d ordered. He squeezed her hand, the back of which provided a gnarled surface for her copiously interconnected liver spots.
‘You’re right, my love.’ He readily agreed.
There weren’t enough of the right sort, like traffic wardens, about, though. That was for sure.

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