'The View' by L Hall

I looked at the plaque screwed to the bench: “In loving memory of Terry, who spent many a happy hour admiring the view.” Turning, I looked back to the tower block that rose from the ground like some ancient monolith. A grey pebble-dashed obelisk, unseeing eyes wide-open and also grey as they reflected the overcast sky. Had Terry really admired this view?

“Hi, sorry I’m late. Some idiot on the bus refused to pay their fare, so I’ve had to walk from Gallowgate. Anyway, I’m here now. Should we get started?”

I smiled and stood up in reply, muscles already tightening in anticipation.

“Right, quick warm up, then we’ll get stuck in. I’ve planned a new circuit for us today. You’re going to love it!”

I smiled again. A smile I hoped was convincing, but felt like water: desperately apologetic, and lacking any substance. 

After fifteen minutes I was drenched in sweat and fighting for each breath.

“Ready for a quick break? Let’s grab some water.”

I slumped on the bench and wrestled my water bottle free from my rucksack. I took long, deep gulps.

“Whoa! Whoa! Steady, you’ll make yourself sick. Sip, like me. You need to rehydrate carefully.”

I took a few more sips and put the bottle down. 

“Do you think Terry really admired this view?”

“Pardon?”

“Terry,” I indicated to the plaque, “do you think he really liked this view?”

She looked perplexed. “Er, yes…well…perhaps? You never can tell, can you. Should we go through the circuit again?”

“No. You never can tell,” I replied standing up, the great grey view looming over me.