the rest of my life dealing with other people’s insurance until I retired was driving me dotty – I tell you , I even ended up checking my own life expectancy table. I woke up one morning and realised I had to do something different – anything was better than the life I was leading. So I decided to get away from it all and start up my own business - to be my own boss. It seemed to make sense and I still think I did the right thing. You’ve no idea what it means to be part of the village life, watching my own business grow as part of the community, instead of sitting at a desk and spending the rest of my working life in an office. Ugh.” He looked up, surprised at his own eloquence. “Sorry about that, I got carried away a bit.”
“I’m sure you did the right thing – it’s what you wanted.” Hetty reassured him. Thinking back, she mused, “It’s funny the way things have turned out - you’ve got the shop and I’ve got my animals. D’you think you’ve taken on too much though? Don’t forget there’s young William to think about.”
Albert sighed. “Yes, and he doesn’t seem to know what he wants.”
“You’ll be telling me you don’t know what you want next,” she tried hopefully, touching his hand.
Sensing he was on dangerous ground, he pushed his chair back hurriedly. “I think it’s time I got back. I’ve got all that paperwork to catch up on. Thanks for the supper – you spoil me.”
“I never get the chance properly, do I,” she heaved a sigh, doing her best to look on the bright side. “Don’t worry, things are bound to get better. I know…” searching in her mind for a helpful way out, “… what happened to that other brother of yours – Neil, isn’t it? Couldn’t he take some time off to help? Wasn’t he some sort of high flier in the civil service?”
“Not exactly,” said Albert sheepishly, wondering how to put it as he always did when talking about his brother Neil, who ever since he could remember had always been frowned on by the other members of his family. “He… er… found it wasn’t quite his cup of tea – too dull. He decided like me to go in for something more enterprising…in the private sector. Something he could get his teeth into…”
As he spoke, he thought back to the last time he saw his young brother. Neil hadn’t actually bitten anyone. But he certainly left one of the bobbies sucking his hand that time, and it had taken half a dozen reinforcements to persuade him to accompany them down to the station, still protesting his innocence, after leading a revolt by fellow stallholders in one of his never ending battles with some of the more officious members of the local Council.
Albert tried to imagine what a difference it would have made to have his go-getting young brother around. Then he dismissed the idea regretfully. Neil had gone a bit too far this time to be in a position to do anything. He was still finishing off a community service sentence and wouldn’t be around to help anyone for a while. Albert was an upright law abiding creature, and although he loved his brother dearly, the thought of what Neil might do to improve the present situation made him quake inwardly.
He broke in hastily, “No, I think he’s a bit tied up at the moment. I’ll try young William instead and see how he’s fixed.”
As she waved him off, she called out encouragingly, “Don’t worry. We’re right behind you, Bert – and don’t forget William, I’m sure he won’t mind you asking.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” called back Albert relieved at the change of conversation, “ I don’t think they work him that hard on that local rag of his. I expect he’ll be glad of the chance to help.” To himself, he added, “Heaven help me if he doesn’t…”
A Proper Job
Albert had no need to worry on that score. Next morning, the sun was high in the sky before it got round to peeping through his nephew’s bedroom window, revealing William still fast asleep in the middle of a bad dream, re-living the trauma of being sacked from the editorial office of the Snuggleton Globe newspaper. In his dream, he was sitting trapped at his desk, mesmerised by the incandescent face of Jock, the fiery sub-editor, glaring at him only inches away. Only a few minutes earlier, he dimly remembered, that same Scottish worthy had been complimenting him grudgingly on his report about the outcome of the local flower show competition that had taken place that afternoon.
Unfortunately, at that moment a file happened to fall open on his desk and a sample of his more imaginative artistic efforts slid out. As he handed them back, Jock gave a passing indifferent glance at some of the figures the drawings revealed, mostly quick impressions of the villagers taking part, that William had dashed off while waiting for the competition results to be announced. At first, his lips twitched in dour appreciation at the sight of one of the more notorious local characters who appeared to be tied to a rocket, with a label affixed inviting onlookers to light the match. Then his faint smile vanished and his face began to assume a purple tinge as he took in a group of Council notables, headed by the Mayor about to present the prizes, flanked by the Town Clerk and another person who looked increasingly familiar.
If William had been content with mere lifelike impressions, all would have been well. But as the time passed waiting for the announcements, he had grown increasingly bored and the figures began to turn into fantasy doodles, until the Mayor started to look more like an inebriated cow, the Town Clerk resembled a waddling duck, and the third provoked a furious reaction from the sub-editor, causing him to stiffen and point at it with quivering finger, “And who…is that, may I ask?”
“Oh, that?” coughed William, trying to cover up the offending drawing casually.
The sub-editor snatched it away and peered at it more closely.
“Is that…thing…supposed to be me?”
William laughed nervously, “Why, what makes you think that?”
“Why?” snorted the sub angrily. “Look at it, you… you…” Speech almost failed him before he could get the words out. “Because… he’s wearing a kilt with ‘Jock’ plastered all over it,” he spluttered, “that’s why.” His voice swelled dangerously, “…And he’s holding a bottle of whisky and he’s …got his arms around the Town Clerk!”
Aware suddenly of some sniggers in the background from the other reporters trying hard not to listen, the sub-editor vent his fury on the hapless William.
“Is this what I pay you for, producing r-rubbish like this?”
“Well, no, not all the time,” admitted William trying to be fair. “Only when there’s nothing else to do.”
“Well, you’re wrong there, laddie, there is … and you’re fired.” In his fury, he snatched up a ruler and beat a tattoo on the desk to add emphasis to his remarks. The noise went on and on reverberating in William’s mind until he finally came to in bed with a splitting headache and the sound of someone banging on his bedroom door.
“Are you in there, nephew? Open this door at once!”
With a great effort, William forced himself to climb gingerly out of bed and as soon as the room steadied around him, he made a wavering lunge for the door. Scrabbling for the handle he found it wouldn’t open and looking down discovered why. The key was in the lock – he must have turned it last night to stop his aunt seeing the state he was in.
“The door must have stuck…” he called out feebly, and pulling it open nearly fell over in the process. Focusing his eyes with an effort, he at first made out two images glaring at him accusingly before they merged into the formidable figure of his aunt Ethel.
Seeing his condition, she sniffed suspiciously. “And what time did you get home last night, pray?”
William waved a hand vaguely as he tried to concentrate and sift through his elusive memory. “Can’t remember exactly…not too late. The lads were celebrating – couldn’t refuse, could I?” he added hastily, anticipating the next question.
“That’s as maybe,” she said grimly, “I only ask because the milkman went past on his early