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The Best Triumph continued
"'Fraid so my love." She kissed him. "But..." A lump was forming in his throat and he could feel his eyes beginning to burn, as they began to fill with tears. "I don't want to lose you again. It's... it's been so long." "You'll see me again, you know that now," she said comfortingly. "When? How long before..." "I can't tell you that," she said, "but I'll be there waiting - providing you promise to take the bumps a bit slower in future." She smiled. George laughed and Margaret leant over and kissed him. "Goodbye, my love." The next moment George was standing at his back door, the rays of the new sun breaking the horizon. He could remember everything, but knew that it couldn't possibly have happened. He'd blacked out, that must be it. He'd had some kind of seizure that had left him standing by the door all night and yet he felt strangely relaxed and refreshed as though he'd had the best nights sleep ever. Maybe it was real, he thought to himself, but no, it couldn't be. He would remember it as a nice dream. He was just about to shut the door when he glanced over to where he remembered the Triumph had been parked. There, on the ground, was a patch of oil, still wet. "British bikes," he muttered to himself, smiling. **** It was a gorgeous day for the walk to the badger-sett. George had woken Trent and they'd set off early with the food and drink packed in his old army knapsack. That was what he'd told his grandson, anyway. He'd actually bought it a few years ago down the army-surplus store. George felt his coat being tugged. "Sorry Trent," he said, "I was miles away." "What were you thinking about Grandad?" asked the boy. "Just my old mates that I used to hang about with, when I first met your Gran." "Oh," said Trent, noticing the glint of a tear in his Grandad's eye. "What happened to them all?" "They all lived happily ever after," said the old man, smiling. The End.
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