100 words no more no less · Angela's stories · July

Today at Wimbledon

By Angela Gallagher

WIMBLEDON always reminded her of her parents. They’d go as often as they could; her mum always in that awful, bright multicoloured cardi.

“So your father can find me if we get separated.”

She’d sat down in anticipation to watch the match: cup of coffee, piece of cake – bliss. But rain stopped play so it was a rerun of that famous Borg/McEnroe bruiser. Fine, she’d never seen it.

But then there was a flash of colour in the crowd. She peered. No doubt: her mother – young and slim.

It couldn’t be, not that date.

The day she was born.

©Angela Gallagher 2016


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