DRAWN TOGETHER

The bench had been her mother's idea. Ordered, paid for, and installed long before she left them.

- By Isabelle Broom

The plaque fixed upon it was engraved with her name, alongside the words, "Let the beauty here inspire you, as it did me."

Gwen relinquished a sigh as she sat down. Her gaze trailed from her scuffed boots to the rough pathway, cracked concrete with veins of tufty grass, a bank of thistles that tapered down to the water, the murk of the river beyond. The sky was heron grey, clouds dip-dyed with the threat of rain, though the trees burned bright with autumn hues. Movement caught her eye. Gwen glanced up, watching as a man made his way from the bridge to the bench opposite. He was wrapped up against the cold in a heavy overcoat, bright scarf and woollen hat, though his hands were bare. She had chosen a spot in the centre of her seat, yet he scooted to one end of his, withdrawing a notebook and pen from his pocket as he did so.

A breeze swept in, and she shivered.