tagNon-EroticSchool and Mall

School and Mall


A very short intensive tale, a complicated plot in a tiny package. You may not get it on first read; trust me and persevere ... or not, you're the reader. It is just a story, take it for what it's worth.


SCHOOL AND MALL - Pass it on.

"Don't go too far, Katie," I cautioned, "Karate'll only be five minutes."

Katie was two and fearless. I was 62 and wired fearful whenever I babysat my grandchildren. At half-term I had two to watch. 'Karate' was my son Dan Black's boy Daniel, the Fourth Dan in the family.

"Okay, Gramps," Katie answered, wheeling her toy pushchair around where I sat on a long crowded bench.

"Hello, Dan, mind if I sit?"

A silver-haired woman hovered with a couple of shopping bags. Although she had changed much, the voice was unmistakable, as were those blue eyes.

"Of course, Mrs Evans," I replied.

"I'm Connie, Dan, please?"

"Sure, Connie, please forgive an irascible old man."

"A gentleman, Dan," she smiled beautifully. Connie sat, depositing her bags on the floor. "We were best friends once... I miss Mary."

I started at the mention of my late wife. Even after five years the void was manifest.

"You knew Mary?"

"The Baptist Church Wednesday Club. We chatted, mostly about you. I spoke to you at her funeral, but you were distracted."

"Sorry, Connie, that day's blurred. Sorry about Freddie, I liked him."

I played Sunday golf with Freddie Evans until seven years ago. He worried leaving Connie alone, he had heart problems. They couldn't have children after Connie's ex-husband beat her almost to death while heavily pregnant with Freddie's child.

"Freddie was a nice man," she remembered, "And you were a nice boy."


I thought of school, age 15, sitting next to Connie as always. She lived next door. We learned to walk and talk together, I taught her bicycle riding, the precocious minx taught me kissing when we were 12. When my hormones caught up with hers, I wanted to court her, but prevaricated and was pipped at the post.

Jimmy Logan tapped my leg under the desk, passing a note. I unfolded it, "You're beautiful!" I looked to the other side of the room; Rich Roebuck gesticulated, pointing to Connie. Simultaneously, Jimmy hissed, "Pass it on", with a ventriloquist face. I passed it on. Connie read the note, gave Roebuck a beautiful smile, passed a reply back and broke my heart.

I told her at break that Roebuck was a bully. Connie was angry; apparently Rich was a "dreamboat" and I was "jealous". They became an item and I was out in the cold.

They were the first in our set to marry and first to divorce, just after the third time Connie was hospitalised. By then I was happily married to Mary, who I met at college miles away. I couldn't study alongside the Roebucks. I qualified as a master moulding plasterer and returned to start my thriving business.

Roebuck got eighteen months inside. Connie divorced him and married Freddie.

Later convicted for aggravated assault, Roebuck was jailed for five years, threatening to force Connie's return. Released thirty months later, he was found in the alley behind his local pub beaten so systematically that he never walked again, with no recollection of his assailants.

By chance, Connie and Freddie attended a concert by her favourite band, with Bobby and Sherry Baker. Sherry won four tickets in a raffle and, although Bobby was a useless Community Policeman, he was perfect alibi material.

It was a fortnight before a detective inspector got around to interview me. I told the officer I was at a seminar on 18th century panel mouldings in Bournemouth and was wearing the tee-shirt. My apprentice bought me two, so I could keep them fresh.


'Karate' returned with sweets and pop. The drinks were too sugary. I sent him back for fruit juices.

Connie grinned, "You still do karate, Dan?"

"No, we fell out, philosophically."

We both fell silent for a while.

Connie stood and gathered her bags, "Nice seeing you, Dan."

"Likewise, Connie, see you around."

She crossed me, past a woman sitting a few feet from me and sat down again. Connie extracted a pad and wrote a note, passing it to the woman sitting between us, who passed it onto me. I recognised her.

"Hi, Sherry," I said, "Sorry about Bobby."

"He passed on painlessly in his sleep, Dan. I got your condolence card last week ," Sherry said, "Thirty-five years ago I got those concert tickets and a week later the negatives of ... Harold and me."

I nodded.

"That fling was a one-night fling and two years before Roebuck's release. Harold was very persuasive."

"I was patient," I said, "I'd other photos of Harold. Sorry, Sherry, I didn't want you and Bobby hurt."

"We were good, Dan, here."

I unfolded the note, "You're beautiful, call me" and a number.

I pulled out a flyer I'd received earlier, wrote down my mobile number and folded it.

"Hey, Sherry, pass this on, please?"

The end.

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by Anonymous

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by DeKre03/12/18

I agree

with Daddy1950. However, if one looks at the majority of the stories on this site (and similar ones), the people with more than single digit IQs are probably a minority.

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