Short Story - June 2007

Tiger Skin

"I'm to look out for a beech hedge", she told the driver.
"We're not there yet", he said.
The road meandered on through fields. She picked out the odd roof of a farm building but no sign of any real habitation. The taxi turned off the road onto what appeared to be a bridle path. After twenty yards it widened into an uneven road running along a shallow gully. On each side she saw the dirty white woollen legs of sheep, a head lowered to graze. She had the unnerving sensation that she was travelling downwards to an underground destination and then with a jolt the taxi swung out into a road of large detached houses and she could feel it - her father's presence somewhere nearby, behind hedge, tree, mock Tudor frontage - he was there pacing an airy bedroom, changing and re-changing his clothes. He’d know by now that she was in his vicinity, approaching, on her way back to him at long last.
"This is it".

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