Brickwork was all that was between them these days, and little good it did, for they hadn’t spoken for over thirty years, for a reason neither chose to remember.

Now, each of them left alone in the world, they continued with their long-forgotten feud. Two women whiling away the dog days of their lives empty and routine, of no comfort to anyone, least of all themselves.

The doorbell rang on a Tuesday, much to Mildred’s surprise.

She woke from her mid-morning doze with a jump and hurried as best she could to the door, checking her hair and other presentation as she passed the hall mirror. Not perfect, but she would do.

“Hello, Mrs Jenkins, how are you today?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he bustled his way through his bag.

The cheery postman had little to be happy about on another damp and dismal day, his coat soaked right though. And although he’d always been a bit too chirpy for Mildred, she tolerated him, for he didn’t call often.

“I have something for next door, but there’s no-one around. If you could keep it, I’ll put a card through the letterbox.”

Mildred opened her mouth to speak, but before she said a word, he’d left the item with her, whistling on his way down the path and through the gate.

She looked down at the parcel and held it out in front of her. Thick brown paper protected the sturdy contents and was labelled in the clearest of handwriting:

Mrs Leona Lightbown
13, Staley Road
Liverstone
LS12 1RR
United Kingdom

‘Well, I suppose I’ll look after it,’ she told herself and, placing it on the hall table, realised it was time for her morning cup of Nescafé. But the parcel niggled away all day long, and when 6 o’clock arrived, she had become increasingly intrigued by its presence.

The brown wrapping had undergone close inspection several times, but there was nothing to help her nosiness, for the only clues were that address label.

“Where is the woman?” She caught herself saying out loud in her annoyance at her neighbour’s absence. “What can she be doing until this time?”

She found a tin of Heinz Big Soup for supper and a frozen half-baguette that would go with it nicely.

-§-§-

“I left a parcel with that Mrs Jenkins today,” he told his wife over their evening meal, “For the woman next door who she hasn’t spoken to for years.

“It would have been easy to take it back to the sorting office, but I wondered if I could use it to get them together again.”

She looked at him with disdain and found fault as usual. “You shouldn’t go messing about with people. It’ll go horribly wrong, mark my words.”

He considered his supper, which, as it was Tuesday, was bread-crumbed fish from the supermarket, with oven chips and peas. He chomped on with a relish.

“Can’t come to any harm.”

He slurped up his brown ale noisily, ‘One pleasure a day’, his maxim in life. Encouraged by her silence, he reached for the ketchup while she wasn’t looking, for she didn’t encourage it, ‘because of the salt’, she said.

“Let’s see what happens.”

He pondered on the opportunity to have the ladies make up, old romantic as he was. Along with his choice of brown ale, it was about all the control he had left in his life.

She would always look to pull him down, for he was a kindly soul who sought ways to help others. Sadly, his bitter wife did not see any value in her husband’s kind-heartedness.

-§-§-

Just as the credits were rolling for EastEnders, the doorbell rang. Mildred straightened her cardigan before answering it. Her nephew fitted a security light for her a few years ago, so when she looked through the peephole in the door, she instantly recognised Mrs Lightbown.

“The postman left a card saying my parcel would be here.” She raised an eyebrow, like a schoolteacher seeking a response. Mildred remembered this as one of the things she disliked most about her neighbour.

She wanted to get rid of her as soon as she could, “I’ll fetch it for you.” She turned to the hall table for it.

“That won’t be necessary,” Mrs Lightbown informed her as she edged her way in, “It’s for you.”

Mildred’s jaw fell open. “For me?” She enquired, “But how can it be?”

“May I come in and sit down?” Mildred could not refuse, for to do so would have been rude. So, she flapped a hand directing her neighbour through into the cozy parlour.

“I found this. It’s yours.” At these words, Mildred looked at the parcel then at her guest.

“Go on then, open it.” She was being a bit pushy, Mildred felt, as she looked for some scissors in the sideboard.

“I took the pond out last summer, and under the foundations of the stepping stones, it was lying there. After all these years.”

Mildred unpacked the contents from the stiff brown paper and as it opened, realised the item was upside down.

“What is it?”

“It’s yours, as I recall. And I want you to have it back. I know how important it is to you.”

When Mildred turned it over, she saw the familiar silver frame, with the somewhat wrinkled photograph still clear, after all this time. “It was in a plastic bag. They don’t deteriorate, you know.”

Mildred recognised the grainy black-and-white picture of her and her late husband, standing at the top of the garden when they were young and much in love. It was taken not long after they bought the house, and in her arms, her first-born, Charlie, just before he died of the measles.

It was her only photograph of him.

She remembered the picture had gone missing, and they argued over it. Her husband said she must have misplaced it, and though Mildred was sure she hadn’t, the frame and picture were never seen again.

Mildred blamed Mrs Lightbown – or Leona as she knew her in those days – because she had admired the frame so and had been round for tea only the day before it disappeared. But Mildred had not mentioned the loss to her neighbour and never spoke to her again.

Until today.

“I’ve no idea how it got in my garden, but I recognised it at once. So, I had it cleaned up for you, before I returned it.”

To start with, Mildred had no words. And then, through the tears of years gone by, forced out her gratitude.

“Thank you, Leona. Thank you. Please, let me get you a cup of tea.”

-§-§-

The next morning, when the postman rang Mrs Lightbown’s door to check she received the parcel, he found the two old ladies having coffee together, catching up on their missing years of friendship.

He was delighted he had found a way to bring them together, after all that time. Being a postman could, on the surface, be thought of as a mundane job – one to be suffered. But he knew better.

“A job well done,” He said to himself, with a smile.

12shortstories.com Prompt: The Bridge | Word Count: 1200 | Genre: Contemporary Fiction