by Magnus Mills
“Aha, the truants return,” he said, holding the door open for us to enter.
Inside, John Hall was sitting behind a large desk, examining some papers. Without looking up, he indicated three wooden chairs in front of him. We sat down, side by side, as David Hall went out and closed the door.
“Now then,” said John Hall. “What can I do for you?”
“Well,” I said. “We were wondering if we could have a key for the front gate.”
“A key?”
“Yes.”
“Why’s that?”
“So we can go out at nights.”
“Nothing was said about any key.”
“No…but we wondered if we could have one anyway, that’s all.”
Mr Hall looked up. “Nothing was said about any key,” he repeated. “You should try studying the small print. There’s definitely nothing about any key. Not one word. And if you don’t mind my saying so you seem to be treating this place as some sort of holiday camp where you can do what you please. You’re always going off somewhere or other. You remind me of herds of wildebeest constantly roaming round in search of water. It’s not as though we haven’t done our best to accommodate you. Bent over backwards we have, yet all you do is complain about our pies and sausages. You’re never satisfied with what’s laid on. It so happens that my brother Bryan prepared something special this evening by way of a change. You’d have known that if you’d had the courtesy to turn up in the canteen at the appointed hour. Now you’ve gone and upset him and he won’t get over it for days. Taken it most personally he has. And you walk in here and ask for a key. Bit of a liberty I’d call it.”
“So we can’t have one then?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not,” replied Mr Hall.
A moment passed.
“Where’s Morag?” said Tam.
“The girl? She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Oh yes. We couldn’t allow a woman like that to remain on the premises for very long. The men would have found it too disturbing.”
“But she can’t have gone.”
“Come, come,” said Mr Hall. “Do you think the whole world revolves around your every whim and fancy?”
“No.”
“Well, then. We all have our disappointments, you know. How do you think I feel about losing the school dinners?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it isn’t different. It’s the same. Disappointment is disappointment. You should know all about that. You’ve left a trail of very disappointed people behind you.”
Mr Hall sat silently regarding us across his desk. The only sound was the endless churning of the sausage machines, somewhere in the depths of the factory. My chair had begun to feel very uncomfortable.
“What people?” I asked.
“Well,” he said. “Let’s start with Mr McCrindle.”
EOF