Photo: Copyright kattermonran.com
Emma watched little Charlotte in her waterproof boots, splashing through the puddles on the pavement. Of course, she wasn’t so little these days. Another few weeks and she’d be seven.
After a few seconds in her own world, Emma realised the time. They needed to get to the taxi rank before the evening rush started. Without thinking, she took Charlotte’s hand and guided her daughter into Main Street. They rushed past the shops, Emma keeping her gaze straight ahead. Halfway along the street, she felt her hand being squeezed. Charlotte had stopped walking and was looking at the ground.
“Mummy, mummy. Can you see the bus?”
“Don’t be silly. There isn’t a bus on this street. It’s just for pedestrians.”
Charlotte pointed at the nearest puddle. “No, not on the street. In the water! I can see Granddad driving his big blue bus, and he’s waving at me!”
“Charlotte! You know Granddad has gone away to a better place. When I was your age, they said I had a over-active imagination. I must have passed it on to you.”
Still in denial about her own abilities, Emma avoids looking into puddles. Sometimes she forgets, and sees the blue bus driving by. It makes her cry.
This is my contribution for Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Al. Click the link for more details.
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