‘I
did wonder,’ Marian said, her voice soft with sympathy, ‘but
with him being so young, I thought he might need it.’
‘Oh, he needs it all right,’ Joe said, bitterly. ‘To
maintain his - lifestyle, they call it, nowadays.’
‘He’s not on drugs?’ she ventured, alarmed.
‘Not as far as I know, but he’s always broke. Look, if
I do the job for three hundred pounds, like he said, will that be
all right? You won’t tell the police? I’m a bit pushed,
but I could fit in a couple of hours a day.’
Marian thought about it. ‘And my fifty pounds?’
‘If you forget about that, I won’t charge for the paint,
just three hundred pounds all in. Fair enough?’
‘Fair enough. When can you start?’
He looked at the mantelpiece clock. ‘Too late tonight. Will
tomorrow be okay? About four?’
Marian nodded and got up. He held out his hand. It was firm and rough,
a real man’s hand, like Bill’s used to be, long ago. She
jumped as the clock began to strike the hour. In the hall, she heard
its eighth stroke. The doorbell chimed.
‘Evening, Mrs.Smithers. Here I am, as promised.’ The boy,
smiling cheerfully, humped his armful of dust sheets into the hall.
Then he caught sight of his Grandad and stopped in mid-stride, his
face turning scarlet.
‘Well,’ said Joe, a great smile of relief sweeping away
his dejection. So this is what you get up to! Don’t I pay you
enough?’
‘Oh, it’s not just the money,’ said the boy, awkwardly.
‘You will take on too much work, and knock yourself out, ever
since Gran died. It isn’t good for old folks to work themselves
too hard, is it, Mrs Smithers?’
‘No, I’m sure you’re right,’ Marian agreed,
thinking of her sparkling furniture and clean linen with some embarrassment.
‘Would you both like some tea?’ |
Judging Comment
With the theme for this competition being about a painter and decorator,
it was obvious enough that cowboys and conmen would be in our minds
somewhere along the line. Painters, decorators, builders and the like
don’t always have the best of reputations. So when Marion Smithers
paid fifty pounds up front, allegedly for the paint, we naturally
wonder: Is he going to take the fifty quid and never be seen again?
And it looks very much as though that is exactly what was going to
happen. But at least Marion has the phone number. And it all turns
out well: the painter was not a conman; he was simply a young man
working in partnership with his granddad and worried about the amount
of work the older man was taking on. A neat enough twist at the end.
Or is it the end? There is perhaps a hint that Marian and Joe might
eventually be more than passing acquaintances. But if we want that
ending, it is up to us to write it. |
