be nice to have it all done in time for Christmas.” George said cheerily. “Which basically means we need to do it this weekend.”
I groaned. “You didn’t have any other plans for the weekend, did you?” He asked.
“Not particularly,” I admitted. “But spending two days in here with a paintbrush wouldn’t have exactly been at the top of my list. Still, I suppose that it will be worth it when we’re finished.”
Excellent! I knew I could count on you.” George’s face became even more apologetic. “That’s not quite all, I’m afraid. I’d already booked to take Mary down to London for the weekend. Normally I’d cancel it, but we’ve got tickets for the theatre and so on. I hope you understand.”
“You’d only have been in the way, in any case. I’m sure that we’ll manage just as well without you.”
“And I’m afraid Barbara’s got her son and his family coming for the weekend, so she can’t make it either.”
I grimaced. “And I suppose your next bit of news is that Katie’s too busy to help as well, is it?”
“No, no, no,” George answered quickly. “Katie’s said she’d be here. Mentioned something about trying to get her friend to come and help. And it is the two of you who are always moaning about how shabby the place is.”
Based on my conclusions of the previous night, the prospect of being in Katie’s company for the whole weekend wasn’t the most enticing, but I couldn’t see any easy way out of it.
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll be here. Just make sure you get paint that only needs one coat. And don’t expect a professional job. ”
“It’s got to be an improvement on this, whatever it’s like.” George said wryly, looking around.
The following day, I left the office in the early afternoon. I hadn’t been struck with much inspiration as to what sort of present a seven year old girl would like. Katie, who volunteered that she had a niece of the same age, told me that smelly gel pens were the popular thing. They sounded horrible, but I managed to find a box which proclaimed it had 14 flavours inside. I bought it, along with some drawing paper.
I called in at home to wrap up the present, and then made my way to “Jane’s” house. “Jane” really goes by the name of Jill Sutton, and her daughter is called Sophie. (I know the aliases I gave them weren’t the most inspired, but it made them easy to remember).
They live not all that far from me, in one of the streets of terraced houses which surround the city centre. Most of the houses had small Christmas trees twinkling in the front windows. A holly wreath hung on the front door of Jill’s home.
I rang the doorbell, and the door was soon opened.
“Jack,” she smiled. “It’s really nice of you to come.”
As I had said in my talk, she bore almost no relation to the broken figure who had walked into the centre two years before. In front of me was a confident and beautiful woman. She led me into the main room, where Sophie lay on the floor, watching television.
Sophie too was much changed. It had taken a long time for her to overcome her fear of men, and for months she wouldn’t even lift her head to look at me, never mind having the confidence to speak. This time though she turned her head, smiled, said “Hi Jack” and then carried on watching her programme.
“I brought you an early Christmas present, Sophie. I hope it’s OK.”
This did mange to hold her attention. She span around and took the present from me. She looked at her mother to check if it was alright to open it straight away and, when Jill nodded, tore off the wrapping.
“Gel pens!” she squealed excitedly. “Thanks Jack.” She flung her arms around me and then scuttled over to a small table where she began drawing.
Silently blessing Katie, I sat down and turned to Jill. “How are things for you at the moment?”
“Very good, thanks. You can see how Sophie is. She’s so full of energy and life now, her teachers have
I groaned. “You didn’t have any other plans for the weekend, did you?” He asked.
“Not particularly,” I admitted. “But spending two days in here with a paintbrush wouldn’t have exactly been at the top of my list. Still, I suppose that it will be worth it when we’re finished.”
Excellent! I knew I could count on you.” George’s face became even more apologetic. “That’s not quite all, I’m afraid. I’d already booked to take Mary down to London for the weekend. Normally I’d cancel it, but we’ve got tickets for the theatre and so on. I hope you understand.”
“You’d only have been in the way, in any case. I’m sure that we’ll manage just as well without you.”
“And I’m afraid Barbara’s got her son and his family coming for the weekend, so she can’t make it either.”
I grimaced. “And I suppose your next bit of news is that Katie’s too busy to help as well, is it?”
“No, no, no,” George answered quickly. “Katie’s said she’d be here. Mentioned something about trying to get her friend to come and help. And it is the two of you who are always moaning about how shabby the place is.”
Based on my conclusions of the previous night, the prospect of being in Katie’s company for the whole weekend wasn’t the most enticing, but I couldn’t see any easy way out of it.
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll be here. Just make sure you get paint that only needs one coat. And don’t expect a professional job. ”
“It’s got to be an improvement on this, whatever it’s like.” George said wryly, looking around.
The following day, I left the office in the early afternoon. I hadn’t been struck with much inspiration as to what sort of present a seven year old girl would like. Katie, who volunteered that she had a niece of the same age, told me that smelly gel pens were the popular thing. They sounded horrible, but I managed to find a box which proclaimed it had 14 flavours inside. I bought it, along with some drawing paper.
I called in at home to wrap up the present, and then made my way to “Jane’s” house. “Jane” really goes by the name of Jill Sutton, and her daughter is called Sophie. (I know the aliases I gave them weren’t the most inspired, but it made them easy to remember).
They live not all that far from me, in one of the streets of terraced houses which surround the city centre. Most of the houses had small Christmas trees twinkling in the front windows. A holly wreath hung on the front door of Jill’s home.
I rang the doorbell, and the door was soon opened.
“Jack,” she smiled. “It’s really nice of you to come.”
As I had said in my talk, she bore almost no relation to the broken figure who had walked into the centre two years before. In front of me was a confident and beautiful woman. She led me into the main room, where Sophie lay on the floor, watching television.
Sophie too was much changed. It had taken a long time for her to overcome her fear of men, and for months she wouldn’t even lift her head to look at me, never mind having the confidence to speak. This time though she turned her head, smiled, said “Hi Jack” and then carried on watching her programme.
“I brought you an early Christmas present, Sophie. I hope it’s OK.”
This did mange to hold her attention. She span around and took the present from me. She looked at her mother to check if it was alright to open it straight away and, when Jill nodded, tore off the wrapping.
“Gel pens!” she squealed excitedly. “Thanks Jack.” She flung her arms around me and then scuttled over to a small table where she began drawing.
Silently blessing Katie, I sat down and turned to Jill. “How are things for you at the moment?”
“Very good, thanks. You can see how Sophie is. She’s so full of energy and life now, her teachers have
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