Chapter 18
Enjoying the early afternoon sunshine, Hirek sat on a bench in the park wearing a crisp white, short-sleeved shirt, light grey slacks, socks and sandals, all topped off with a straw trilby casually placed on a shock of white hair; he looked like Spencer Tracy on holiday.
The ball bounced across the grass and came to rest between his feet. He picked it up as the little boy ran towards him, his father standing watchfully in the background. Hirek smiled as the boy took it from him.
“You look like the sort of chap who would appreciate a nice sweet, I think.” He reached into his pocket and produced a crumpled paper bag. A wave to the father, “Is it all right for him to have a sweet? Just the one?” he called. A nodded approval and a smile.
“Which one shall it be? A red one or a blue one?’
“A red one.” An emphatic reply.
“Ah, I suspect you are a Liverpool supporter.” The boy nodded enthusiastically. With his prize, he ran back to his father, turning on the way to shout, “Thanks, mister.” Father and son waved. Hirek waved back then checked his watch.
Gathering up his walking stick and shopping bag, he rose slowly from the bench and shuffled away.
He’d catch the 86 into town, buy something nice at the food hall in Marks and Spencer, a quick drink in the Carnarvon and back home in time for tea. As a plan, it was as good as any.