Sally

Sally

We were on holiday in Devon. Every one else, my wife, kids and our friends and their children wanted to go into town shopping. The weather was not good (another British summer) and I preferred to finish the book I had started that morning.

There was one other dissenter, our friends 8 year old daughter, Sally who was complaining of a pain in her stomach. As their car had broken down on the way there we were restricted to trying to go out in the one remaining vehicle, ours, and that made for a very cramped journey. They all looked at one another and a consensus was reached, I’d stay and Sally would too. They put her on one of the sofas, wrapped her in a blanket, said goodbye to me and she and all got into our ageing Hillman Minx

While the kettle boiled, I watched the car make its painful way out of the caravan site and when the kettle clicked off. I made my tea and curled up on the other sofa. Looking over at Sally was still and so I picked up my book, sipped the tea and settled down for a good read.

Time passed and I had completed a good few chapters of the book, glancing up occasionally to make sure Sally was ok. On one occasion I noted she was looking at me with a pained expression on her face.

‘Are you ok?’ I asked

‘No,’ She replied ‘my tummy hurts’

I smiled. ‘It’s probably just wind. Would you like me to rub it for you?’

‘Yes please.’ She said, threw off the blanket and padded in a ‘this hurts’ manner to where I sat. I lifted her onto my lap and she laid across me with her head on the arm of the sofa. She was wearing a short, cotton shift dress and I laid my hand on her tummy and caressed it with light circular motions.

After a few minutes I asked ‘Is that better?’

‘A bit’ came the reply

I moved my had to her thigh and slid it up inside the dress so that my hand rested on the skin of her tummy.