The Final Lick

Peter was new to the small walking group. He could have had no idea what was coming, for it was not by chance that George had seated himself at the opposite end of the bench to Mary, a smug smile on his face. Elsie in the middle could only brace herself, waiting for the strike. There hadn't been many ice cream days this year but the lack of opportunity to practice her skills made no difference to Mary. Her walking sticks belied an astonishing nimbleness and speed of hand. Peter took the final lick of his ice cream.