DON’T GO BREAKING MY HEART
By
Ron Shillingford
SMASHWORDS EDITION
******
Don’t go breaking my heart
Copyright © 2011 by Ron Shillingford
Thank you for downloading this free eBook. Although
this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the
author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for
commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book,
please encourage your friends to download their own copy at
Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this
author. Thank you for your support.
******
Dennis signed off the accounts, kissed the
document, jumped up from his desk and did his characteristic
celebration jig around the office.
Another completed audit and edging closer to
his personal savings reaching that magic million mark. He did a
sort of limbo dance, almost over balancing in the process. A woman
walking past his open office door laughed at Dennis Illingworth’s
antics, someone not known for spontaneous displays of joy.
Since childhood he dreamed of a bulging bank
account of a million pounds and after years of toil in his
accountancy business that dream would be realised within a year.
With the interest it was accruing, Dennis knew the seven-figure
mark in his HSBC savings account would soon be his anyway, but
earning it was more appealing than just waiting for it to creep
there.
Already more than comfortable from
investments in stocks and shares, gold, property and antique
watches, the million pounds in the bank would be the ultimate
benchmark of his success. Motivated to prove doubters from school
wrong, one teacher in particular stood out in his memory, Rick
Lane, the chemistry teacher, who repeatedly told Dennis he would
never amount to anything, mainly because science was not an
interest of his. Maths and economics were though.
Lane’s taunts played on his mind almost
daily. Wish Rick had taught us how to make incendiary devices,
then I could have put one under the seat of his scooter.
Still a bachelor at 43, Dennis’s devotion to
his elderly parents Bob and Lucy, and building up the accountancy
business meant that marriage had been on the back burner for a
while. Twice engaged in his thirties, the domineering Lucy had seen
his fiancées off as “airhead gold diggers looking for a pampered
life off the sweat from your back, son”.
Lucy was a typical Yorkshire matriarch with
connections all over the county.
Political correctness was not a big issue for
her generation, where “you call a spade a spade” she always said
despite the racist connotations. Her era of Yorkshire folk insisted
that all non-white people in Britain were foreigners, irrespective
of where they were born and raised. As parts of Yorkshire have huge
swathes of immigrants and their successive generations, she could
never reconcile herself to calling them fellow Tykes.
Her heart was in the right place in
protecting Dennis, but he allowed her to intrude in his private
life too much. Bob tolerated Lucy’s behaviour simply for a
stress-free existence. For someone barely five feet tall, Lucy
really punched above her weight.
“Mum, let me get on with my own love life.
Please. I’m not 16 anymore.”
“No, but you act like it sometimes. Some of
those floosies were just after your money; it was as obvious as a
darkie’s lips and nose. You couldn’t see it but we could. There was
that Natasha What’s-her-name. What a tart! She just couldn’t wait
to get hitched fast enough. Even tried to organise it behind your
back so that we couldn’t intervene. In a registry office too!
Absolutely no class.
“Then there was the one who claimed she was a
personal trainer who saw clients only at night. Turned out she was
a stripper in Manchester.”
“Okay, they were unsuitable, but there have
been nice ones too. What was wrong with Beverly Carter?”
“Beverly Farter, more like. That girl smelt
something rotten.”
“You made her so nervous mum that she started
sweating
By
Ron Shillingford
SMASHWORDS EDITION
******
Don’t go breaking my heart
Copyright © 2011 by Ron Shillingford
Thank you for downloading this free eBook. Although
this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the
author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for
commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book,
please encourage your friends to download their own copy at
Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this
author. Thank you for your support.
******
Dennis signed off the accounts, kissed the
document, jumped up from his desk and did his characteristic
celebration jig around the office.
Another completed audit and edging closer to
his personal savings reaching that magic million mark. He did a
sort of limbo dance, almost over balancing in the process. A woman
walking past his open office door laughed at Dennis Illingworth’s
antics, someone not known for spontaneous displays of joy.
Since childhood he dreamed of a bulging bank
account of a million pounds and after years of toil in his
accountancy business that dream would be realised within a year.
With the interest it was accruing, Dennis knew the seven-figure
mark in his HSBC savings account would soon be his anyway, but
earning it was more appealing than just waiting for it to creep
there.
Already more than comfortable from
investments in stocks and shares, gold, property and antique
watches, the million pounds in the bank would be the ultimate
benchmark of his success. Motivated to prove doubters from school
wrong, one teacher in particular stood out in his memory, Rick
Lane, the chemistry teacher, who repeatedly told Dennis he would
never amount to anything, mainly because science was not an
interest of his. Maths and economics were though.
Lane’s taunts played on his mind almost
daily. Wish Rick had taught us how to make incendiary devices,
then I could have put one under the seat of his scooter.
Still a bachelor at 43, Dennis’s devotion to
his elderly parents Bob and Lucy, and building up the accountancy
business meant that marriage had been on the back burner for a
while. Twice engaged in his thirties, the domineering Lucy had seen
his fiancées off as “airhead gold diggers looking for a pampered
life off the sweat from your back, son”.
Lucy was a typical Yorkshire matriarch with
connections all over the county.
Political correctness was not a big issue for
her generation, where “you call a spade a spade” she always said
despite the racist connotations. Her era of Yorkshire folk insisted
that all non-white people in Britain were foreigners, irrespective
of where they were born and raised. As parts of Yorkshire have huge
swathes of immigrants and their successive generations, she could
never reconcile herself to calling them fellow Tykes.
Her heart was in the right place in
protecting Dennis, but he allowed her to intrude in his private
life too much. Bob tolerated Lucy’s behaviour simply for a
stress-free existence. For someone barely five feet tall, Lucy
really punched above her weight.
“Mum, let me get on with my own love life.
Please. I’m not 16 anymore.”
“No, but you act like it sometimes. Some of
those floosies were just after your money; it was as obvious as a
darkie’s lips and nose. You couldn’t see it but we could. There was
that Natasha What’s-her-name. What a tart! She just couldn’t wait
to get hitched fast enough. Even tried to organise it behind your
back so that we couldn’t intervene. In a registry office too!
Absolutely no class.
“Then there was the one who claimed she was a
personal trainer who saw clients only at night. Turned out she was
a stripper in Manchester.”
“Okay, they were unsuitable, but there have
been nice ones too. What was wrong with Beverly Carter?”
“Beverly Farter, more like. That girl smelt
something rotten.”
“You made her so nervous mum that she started
sweating
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