Wyn paused – mid-shuffle – bringing the whole of his deliberation to bear on the weather forecast. ” … Storm Delme continues to gather pace, with winds of 60 miles an hour sweeping into coastal areas, bringing with it heavy squalls of rain …” His heart beat a little faster. Then he re-focused his attention on the considerable task of placing one foot in front of the other and inched his way from the kitchen to the hall, where his coat hung on a hook.
The two young women working in the beach cafe knew him as the elderly gentleman with bent shoulders, whose head stuck out from beneath his cap like a tortoise. And he moved, of course, s – o _ v – e -r – y _ s – l – o- w – l – y . Yet, there was something about him that checked any thought of poking fun.
This morning, with the storm raging and every new arrival blowing in through the door like a piece of debris, there was a knock-about atmosphere in the cafe. People laughed as they flattened their hair and flapped at their clothes, trying to knock off the worst of the rain, and customers turned to look and joined in with the laughter: “It’s a wild one out there, alright!”
Wyn sat stooped over a cup of coffee and a pastry, reading a newspaper from the rack. He looked up from time to time, with no discernible smile.
“Have you heard there was a Second World War bomb washed up here, yesterday?” A man in his 30s was leaning on the counter, relaxed and confident-looking, half-facing the customers, and speaking loudly enough for the whole room to hear, but with his head turned towards the young woman serving him.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” somebody answered.
Wyn was looking up from his paper. “It’s news to me,” he said, his voice, thin and shaky, as if it didn’t come out often.
“They found one up in the fields a couple of years ago …” someone called from another table. “One of them … detectorists …”
“I bet he got a shock!” laughed the man at the counter. “You don’t think of it as an extreme sport, do you?” There was a general chuckle in the room. Wyn laughed, too, although you wouldn’t have seen it in his face.
It was time to go. He rose from his seat and shuffled his way across the floor, a cup and saucer in one hand and a plate in the other. 5 minutes to get to the bus stop around the corner. The young women smiled at him.
He boarded the bus, then rang the bell as soon as it pulled away. It dropped him off just 100 yards up the hill. He stood for a moment on the pavement. The rain slapped his face and the wind unsteadied him. His head was full of the surging sea, the news of the bomb and the faces in the cafe.
He inched towards home. Life was good.
