50 Short Stories

by Martin Bourne

  He was livid.

  I don't think that he was so bothered about me knocking his bird off, but he was very worried that Lorraine would divorce me and clear off with the grandchildren. That would break him, because he idolised them both.

  He interfered more and more in the office and there were rows daily.

  Life became intolerable at work but Tracey and myself saw each other almost every night.

  As forecast, Lorraine did divorce me and virtually ruined me financially. Fortunately for the old man she, remained in the area so he still saw the kids.

  One day he tried yet again to effect a reconciliation between Lorraine and myself in front of all the office staff, including Tracey. I blew my top and said a lot of things that I regretted later, but I was in such a rage. The old man grabbed me by the throat and almost strangled me. He accused me of being short tempered again. and marched me out of the office and then ordered me out of the building.

  Sacked and cut off without a penny.

  Even worse he then turned his attention to Tracey. She too was fired, but not before he had told all and sundry many private and personal details.

  The truth hurt and she left the building in tears.

  I never went back home again and Tracey and myself came to live up here just before Christmas that year.

  AND EVEN THAT was a disaster.

  Gone was the passion. Gone was the happiness.

  Trying to adapt to living on a shoestring budget was difficult and sadly it wasn't long before Tracey and I split up.

  That really did upset me and I was on the verge of suicide for a long time

  I then spent nearly thirty years moving from one lodging to another. Likewise I drifted from one woman to another often with disastrous consequences.

  Fortunately things did look up when I met the missus last year.

  Hopefully the future will be better than the past but if I told you any more about the lost thirty years you'd probably cry

  Suffice to say I reckon that I was right when I said that I would change everything in my past life.

  DON'T YOU?

  Caught.

  I first learned the meaning of loneliness when I left my parents’ delightful black and white thatched cottage in Daisydale and moved to a grotty flat in the city. Not only had I left all my mates behind, but also a broken romance. It wasn’t my choice to move, but they closed the railway down and I just couldn’t hack the horrendous traffic jams on the motorway twice every day.

  Actually, I discovered that I wasn’t the only tenant in the flat. Biscuit crumbs and chewed paper soon indicated that I had a furry friend living with me, on a no rent basis, if you know what I mean.

  Back home I would simply have got a cat,~~~~ in the city it wasn’t quite so practical.

  With feeling so lonely, I readily accepted an invite to join the leisure and entertainments committee at Hetheringtons Wire Works. What they wanted, was my experience in producing concerts, which I had been doing in Daisydale village hall for many years.

  I was asked to attend a meeting, to be formally co-opted onto the committee. When I arrived at the appointed time, proceedings had already started and I was shown into an ante-room to wait.

  Sitting on the windowsill, also waiting, was a lady of about my own age. She certainly wasn’t pretty, yet in a funny sort of way she seemed attractive. I immediately sensed something odd about her.

  She was wearing a ridiculously tight pair of jogging bottoms and a decorative red top, with a wide expanse of bare flesh between the two. It occurred to me that she was hardly dressed for a meeting. Doubtless, she also thought that my collar and tie with a pin-striped suit was stuffy and over the top, so I suppose the honours were even.

  Her jet black hair looked more like feathers and she had a cute little smile ~~~~but, she was so cross eyed that it was embarrassing. I couldn’t tell which eye she was looking at me with. I averted my gaze to the duffel bag that she had left casually on the floor and noted the name.

  Henrietta Winterburn ~~~~~ what a bloody name.

  Neither of us spoke as she tried unsuccessfully to waft her cigarette smoke through the louvered window. As she lit a second fag she mumbled

  “Don’t mind if I smoke do you?”

  I did, but chickened out and lied

  “Not at all Henrietta, I don’t mind.

  “Hang on.” she said. “I don’t know how you know my name but Henriettta was dropped the day after I was christened.

  It was shortened to Etta but these days most people call me Et. At least they can’t shorten it any more.”

  I had to go one better, saying

  “With the name of Reg I didn’t think that mine could go much shorter. However, in our office all memos are addressed by initials. When I was made manager my RSW was abbreviated to R and now everybody just calls me R.”

  Etta showed her quick wit with the quip

  “So you’re R reg then. ~~~~ Just like my moped.”

  At that we were called into the meeting and duly co-opted.

  From the way that Etta spoke during the coffee and biscuits interval, it was evident that she had had some theatrical training.

  Our joint brief was to take responsibility for the Christmas entertainment at Hetherington’s Social Club.

  After the meeting Etta nudged me and said

  “That coffee was crap, let’s go into Marios and have a decent cup, then we can talk.

  My idea was to organise a concert, like I had done so many times before.

  Etta disagreed.

  “For the type of audience that we can expect I think that a pantomime would be much more suitable.”

  I took her point.

  “What do you suggest?” I asked.

  “I have produced both Jack and the Beanstalk and Cinderella in the past. Have you a preference?”

  I flippantly replied

  “Do Dick Whittington then I can borrow his cat to shift a cheeky little mouse out of my flat.”

  “Stuff the cat” ~~~~~~~~~

  Etta was a business woman

  “I sell mouse-traps. Come down to my place and get a trap. I guarantee that Mickey’s tenancy will be terminated pronto, without the customary weeks notice.”

  “OK” I countered. “Where and what is Your place?”

  “Wonderland. Far end of High Street ~~~Next to the Black Bull”.

  I knew the Bull well enough but usually went in in a hurry and came out in a state, so neighbouring property went unnoticed. I decided to walk back with her and during the half mile from Mario’s to her place I felt the temptation to hold hands with her but then thought better of it.

  When we got there I realised that there was absolutely no excuse for failing to see her shop. The large sign above the double fronted building read ~~

  WINTERBURNS WONDERLAND

  Antiques and Curios

  from Yesteryear.

  Impressed, I followed her inside. She must have sensed my horror

  There were a few antiques of a sort but eighty per-cent of the stock was little more than junk, both new and used.

  “You think that the lot should go into a skip don’t you?” she sighed.

  Yours truly never answered.

  “I only inherited the business from my granddad a few weeks ago,” she told me. “Give me a few more weeks and I will have mostly antiques and the rest at least saleable second hand stuff.”

  “And mouse-traps” I added

  “Of course” she smiled.

  From that day onwards, my loneliness disappeared. Before long, Etta and I were an item, and she moved into the flat with me long before we were married. The standing joke between us was that she moved in as Mickey the mouse moved out.

  Her business prospered and Etta became well known as an authority on antiques.

  When my parents died we let the shop to an estate agent. It took a lot of thinking about but the thatched cottage was such an ideal setting for what had by then developed into a very high class antique
s business. About the same time I picked up a sizeable redundancy cheque and joined her as porter/ van driver and general help.

  One day Etta was a guest on a very light hearted TV panel game involving antiques.

  I sat in the bar of the local pub to watch the programme. In one round each panel member had to identify an antique from a fuzzy picture. Etta successfully identified her picture as man trap. The conversation then became very flippant as the unattached panelists asked if man-traps were still legal. The suggestion was that each would like one to catch a good man.

  Can you imagine my embarrassment?

  My wife casually intervened to say

  “There’s no need for anything so crude.

  I caught my husband with a mousetrap.”