Goodbye to Miss Gee

Goodbye to Miss Gee.

The cold winter’s chill held firm over the depressive landscape. Morning fog rolled from garden to garden as the town woke to another miserable day. Household lights peeked from behind curtained windows, guiding those early risers along the footpaths.

On the corner of the High Street and Clevedon Terrace sat Moorlands Newsagents. Mr Moorland, the owner, had never married and lived alone. The middle aged suitor was once betrothed to his sweetheart until the call to arms broke his heart; she married a less likely war hero who stayed behind. Now up and dressed, he swung the shop sign to read ‘Open’, lifted the door latch and let a small group of boys inside. In turn, the sleepy gang filled their sacks with the Sunday morning newspapers and set off on their paper rounds.

“Switch your lights on when you’re cycling on the road,” he advised, as each swing of the door released a boy back into the early morning fog.

The shop door opened suddenly, sending the bell into a frenzy as Mrs Wentworth bustled inside. This elderly nosey neighbour had lived on Clevedon Terrace for years and always had a tale to tell.

“Nasty business down there at number 83,” she crowed, approaching the counter. “The wreck of a woman had cancer!” she muttered, handing her money over and picking up a newspaper. “Childless and alone, brought it all on herself!” Mr Moorland politely smiled as he dropped the coins into the till. Her last words echoed around the room, “never spoke a single word to me in all those years; she acted like she was a cut above the rest of us!” The door closed leaving an eerie silence behind.

With no time to ponder the sinister words of Mrs Wentworth, the busy shop served the early morning crowd. A milkman rapped on the front shop window, beckoning with his thumb, a sign between friends.

“I’ve got your money here, all counted up,” Mr Moorland shouted through the glass, lifting up a small bag. Jack, a popular local boy, worked...