Inbetween

Your serial
In eleven episodes

Available to read every Friday morning, in the train, in the bus, or at home.

A light wind was making the gravel dance; some stones, the smallest, knocked against the cast iron legs of the benches set between the lime trees; it blew between the spiral scrolls of the wrought iron gate, dashed itself against the corner of the square's garden, then made its way back up another line of benches and lime trees. Occasionally, it drove against the flowering ash trees around the statue and returned to flutter the pages of a newspaper lying on one of the benches there. The rustling of the wind among its sheets was indistinct. The wind turned about the garden, it swept the four symmetrical sides of the square and ran aground against the swing gates.
His hands resting on the wrought iron were beginning to whiten and the cold of the metal was seeping into his joints. He stepped back, rubbed his hands together and decided to go and warm himself over a coffee. Sitting more comfortably, he inclined his head to wipe the drip from his nose that was threatening his chin. It was at that moment that he noticed the stain on his red silk tie. She wouldn't have been happy, he thought. Since he had turned eighty, he had decided to be a stylish old man and made a rule of wearing a red silk tie every day. It amused him; it lent an air of quaintness to his style and bearing. He chuckled when

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