Flash Fiction February - In the Shoe Cupboard
This flashfic is inspired by a prompt posted on 16th February 2022 by the Writer’s Digest to write about “a hoarder”. This story is just under 800 words. Enjoy!The two women watched Brian from behind their prams, leaning in to each other with concerned comments, both of them dismayed and intrigued simultaneously, as the old man lifted a white shoe from the river bank and into a black plastic bin bag.
Rachel stole one last glance at her friend from the town nursery and then sucked in a breath. “Excuse me!” She waved emphatically at Brian. “That one’s mine!”
The old man lifted his head, gradually removing his hand from the bin bag, little white shoe pinched between two fingers. “This one?” He lifted it.
Rachel nodded. “My daughter kicked it off into the stream a few minutes ago.”
Brian looked at the shoe and then at the little girl fussing quietly in Rachel’s pram.
One sticky hand reached down to grab her ankle, jelly knees lifting and bending until her salmon pink skirts rolled back over her thighs. She brought her frilly, white sock to her mouth, but Rachel reached down to block. She whined and flapped an unhappy hand.
Noiselessly, Brian crossed the small, red-brick bridge over the river and approached the two women, causing Rachel’s companion, Diana, to draw away from the unkept man’s parasitic goatee, wild hair and stained workman’s jeans. He lifted the shoe and pointed it tip-to-tip to the little girl’s remaining shoe.
“Well, I’ll say,” he said, “It’s a perfect match.” Then he handed the shoe to Rachel, a worn smile spreading on his face. “You didn’t happen to lose any other shoes lately? I’ve got quite a few at home you might want to take a look at. See if you recognise them.”
Diana and Rachel exchanged a look.
“I don’t know –”
“Katie does like to kick of her shoes around here.” Rachel pushed her hair out of her face, surrendering to a weary, motherly smile. “If you have any pairs in good condition, would I be able to have those too?”
“Eh, there aren’t a lot of those, but if you take a liking to them, I don’t see why not.”
Despite Diana tugging on her elbow and whispering a warning in her ear, Rachel found herself following Old Man Brian to his bungalow a few side streets away. The area was surprisingly well lit, with ornate streetlamps and noisy, uneven flagstones. Brian’s bungalow sat behind historical storefronts in what must have been a repurpose courtyard. Vines and other shrubs grew down over his roof from a high wall set into a natural hill, a dirty iron railing hinting to the popular footpath that curled up beyond it, over his house. The space was quiet but full of echoes – from Brian’s heavy breathing to the creak of the pram’s wheels. Fortunately for Rachel, the bungalow had been built with disability in mind, so a wide, concrete ramp stretched out from the door, a doddle for her clunky pushchair.
“Just in here,” Brian said, ducking into a dark room, the space so filled with objects the windows were almost completely barred. “You can leave your pram in foyer as I reckon that’s the safest place for your little one. I’ve got all sorts in here, so it’s definitely not babyproof!”
Due to the single space cleared on a beaten-up couch, Rachel supposed this had once been a living room. Now it was closer to a shoe cupboard. Racks lined every wall and occasionally came out into the middle of the room, slicing the carpet into three vague isles. Abandoned shoes, mostly small and child-sized, were strewn across the floor where they couldn’t fit on the racks. Black bin bags were squished into corners, their contents supposedly still awaiting their day to be sorted. Some shoes, Rachel noticed, were incredibly old, perhaps made 30, 50 years ago.
But one set really caught her eye, a shiny, red pair set on a pedestal and protected by a square box of glass. It was so strangely highlighted, set back between two racks and almost burred in bags.
Rachel let out a good-natured laugh. “I guess I won’t be leaving with those.”
Brian followed her gaze and furrowed his brows. “No, no. Please leave them with me.” He spoke softly, his fingers shaking a little where he had gone to place down his newest bin bag.
Rachel thought she ought to apologise, but the silence growing between them was so thick she could barely find the will to oppose it. Instead, she began to browse the shelves, trying not to notice as Brian hid tears beneath a calloused, paw-like hand.
She remembered Diana, how she gripped her arm. “He lost his daughter by the river a long time ago, and he’s been sick ever since. Though, I don’t really blame him. The case was never closed, because, well, all they could find were a pair of her shoes left bone-dry on the promenade.”
16/02/2022
To Be Proofread . . .