Member-only story
Preston’s Pedicurist
His weekly pleasure
The sky had been filled in using a 4B pencil. The street lamps were still lit, and their glowing orbs reflected on the surface of the shining wet car park. Light rain was falling, its course to the ground impeded by a gusting wind.
A brick-built structure with a flat roof stood at the corner of the car park. The interior lighting was visible through two large plate glass windows on either side of a door, above which were a pair of lamps that shone onto a wooden sign that bore the legend Diamond Cafe. An illustration of a hand of cards showing a royal flush in that suit was on the right of the lettering. A large white van pulled in below the sign.
Inside, the eight o’clock news bulletin ended, and the radio station returned to its guess the year show with Matthew and Son by Cat Stevens. Forty-five-year-old Avis stood behind the counter, wrapping cutlery in napkins. Her friend, Jeannie, sat at her usual table up by the counter so she could converse freely with Avis.
The only other customer in the cafe was George Oliver Ogle, who was the same age as Avis. A black beret sat above a drawn face with sunken cheeks. Blue eyes looked through circular tortoiseshell spectacles onto a newspaper crossword. His elbows rested on the pale yellow formica surface, and a large mug of tea stood within reach.
