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Do You Know Redfearn?: a very short Short Story

 “I have not had such lovely trout since Redfearn’s garden party,” said Hannah.  She was forty two and wanted to sleep with him. He crossed his legs and sipped his lemonade. This was the price of his work. “Do you know Redfearn?” she asked.  She was always asking who he knew. Did he know the Holloways?  Did he ever meet Charlotte Cooper?  Did he ever stay with the Penningtons when he was in Harrow?  After dinner he took a walk into the village.  There was an old pub there called The George and Dragon.  A man sat outside drinking a pint of local bitter. There was a Jack Russell sleeping beneath the man’s chair.  “Good evening,” the man said.  “Good evening,” he said back.  He walked to the church. The sun was setting and he sat on a bench in the graveyard and watched the sky darken. When he was a boy sunsets would frighten him.  The next day he sat outside the pub and waited for the man with the Jack Russell.  The man with the Jack Russell came and sat in the same chair as yesterday.  The Jack Russell slept.  “Excuse me,” he said to the man.  The man looked up and smiled. “I don’t suppose you know a Redfearn do you?” he asked the man.  The Jack Russell woke, its ears pricked up. It gave a sharp bark. The next day the man didn’t come to The George and Dragon.  At dinner Hannah put her hand across the table and took hold of his. “Oh, I don’t suppose you heard the terrible news,” she said, her fingers stroking his. “What news?” he asked.  She was wearing a low cut floral dress but there was no cleavage. The woman had no breasts. “It’s terrible really,” she said, “poor Redfearn has died.”


About michaeleganpoetry

Liverpool based poet and editor. I have had four pamphlets of poetry published, most recently After Stikklestad (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press, 2010). Penned in the Margins published my first collection, Steak & Stations, in 2010.

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