Golden Hour by William Nicholson Page B

not giving satisfaction, I don’t want to stay on. The Lord knows I do my best. But Janet says I’ve no call to stay on and be spoken to like that.”
    â€œOf course not, Bridget. I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. You’re so reliable and you keep everything so tidy—really we’re so lucky to have you. My mum knows she needs you, really.”
    â€œIf I say I’ll do a thing, then I do it. I was in this morning and not a word. It was just like nothing had happened. I putout her toast and she ate it up. Then off I went, and still not a word. I went to Hove and spoke to Janet. So as soon as you can find someone else—”
    â€œNo, no. I’ll never find someone as reliable as you, Bridget. I’ll go over as soon as I can and talk to her.”
    â€œIf I’m not giving satisfaction, I don’t want to stay on. Don’t get me wrong, but it’s no pleasure doing a job if you’re spoken to like you’re dirt.”
    â€œI’ll make her understand, Bridget. I don’t know what I’d do if you left us. Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to her. Please?”
    â€œWell, seeing as you don’t have anyone.” Bridget allows herself to be persuaded. “But if she tells me to go away again, I’ll take her at her word and not trouble her no more.”
    Bridget leaves. Liz feels so agitated by the encounter that she goes through to Alan again, even though she knows she’s running out of time to file her five hundred words.
    â€œMy bloody mother!” she says. “Turns out she sent Bridget away last night.”
    â€œYou know why? She doesn’t want a carer. She wants you.”
    â€œWell, she can’t have me.”
    Caspar squeezes into the space between them.
    â€œI know who can babysit me on Saturday,” he says. “Granny. I can go to Granny’s.”
    â€œGood Lord! Do you want to?”
    â€œYes,” says Cas.
    â€œShe’s too old, darling. And she’s not being at all nice to Bridget.”
    â€œShe’ll be nice to me,” says Cas. “And Bridget could be there too.”
    â€œWe’ll see,” says Liz. “Don’t worry about Saturday. We’ll sort something out.”
    To Alan she says, “I’ll have to go round there and try to knocksome sense into her. This is the last thing I need. I’m already late with my piece for today.”
    â€œDo your work,” says Alan. “Forget your mother. One visit won’t solve anything. She’s just something you have to endure, like the weather.”
    â€œGod, she drives me crazy.”
    Back at her desk, Liz starts up the radio program once more. She listens to a man called Louis confessing that he wishes he’d shagged around more when he was younger. It seems he was held back because he thought his knob was too small.
    Liz stops the playback and puts her head in her hands. For God’s sake. What is it with humanity? What makes people so ignorant, and fearful, and self-destructive? Surely there’s enough misery in the world without dreaming up ways to make it worse.
    She picks up her biro and writes at the bottom of her page of notes:
Men fear women because their knobs are too small
. So why would that bother them? Because they fear the loss of sexual power? If so, here’s the news, guys. It’s on its way. The day will come when you’ll no longer be able to get it up. It’s called old age, and it happens to every single one of us. You want to get angry about that? You’re going to be old for a long, long time. How long can you stay angry? So let it go, guys. In the end all our knobs are too small.

11
    Laura emails a friend who specializes in crime fiction to get a price indicator on the Menno Herrema collection. There are several serious buyers out there, and Golden Age mystery novels are much in demand. Get a bidding war going and you