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Authors: Michael Palin
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Meredith.’
He
tore the docket from the counterfoil and, sliding open the till at his
right-hand side, began to count out the money.
‘How
many armed raids did you have in Theston?’ asked Mr Meredith.
‘That’s
not the point.’ Martin laid a fifty-pound note, three five-pound notes and
ninety pence into the tray together with the book, it could happen any time.’
He slid the cover back.
‘What
do I do now?’ asked Meredith.
‘Take
the money.’
‘Is
it electrocuted?’
‘Only
the fifty-pound note.’
‘I
don’t want a fifty-pound note. What am I going to do with a fifty-pound note?’
Martin
withdrew the note wearily, it makes it easier for us, that’s all.’
Martin
replaced the note with a twenty, two tens and two fives.
‘What
would I do with a fifty-pound note, old boy? I’m too old to buy wedding rings.’
He chortled with laughter. ‘Eh?’
Martin
gave a weak smile. ‘My mind was elsewhere.’
‘What?
I can’t hear you through this thing.’
John
Parr watched him go. He grinned. Martin clipped the fifty-pound note back with
the others and slid his till shut. John Parr sniffed, twitched, blinked and
leaned across to him. ‘Now you know why they put those screens up, Mart. It’s
to stop us shooting the customers.’
Nine
After
much persistence Ruth had felt the first flickerings of a
friendship with Mrs Wellbeing. It turned out her name was Rose. She’d married
Ted Wellbeing quite late in life after nursing him through a long illness. Ruth
had begun by regarding her as prudish and censorious and Rose, as it turned
out, had jumped to the conclusion that Ruth must have been a scarlet woman,
hiding out from some scandalous love affair. The shared relief in finding each
other wrong helped them to a sort of friendship. Rose Wellbeing determined that
Ruth should meet someone. She didn’t think it was right that an attractive
thirty-five-year-old should still be unattached. She began by bringing her the
local paper with interesting events ringed. These included folk evenings and
dressmaking classes and even Mothers’ Union meetings: ‘You could say you
were a mother.’ Ruth resisted, as politely as she could.
Theston
Fair seemed the perfect answer. By ancient tradition the first Saturday in
November was set aside for this annual festival which celebrated Queen
Victoria’s granting of a borough charter in November 1893. As this year was
centenary year it was to be celebrated with even greater enthusiasm than usual.
It was, Rose assured her, an occasion not to be missed, one that would offer
Ruth a chance to observe the locals without being too conspicuous. Even so, she
woke up on the appointed day feeling apprehensive As she selected an outfit she
realised that although she had many friends back in America, she hadn’t had to
make them. They mostly came with the job. And they were nearly all women. She
was not entirely comfort, able with men. They were so unpredictable. Friends
pals and buddies one minute and urgent, demanding appetites the next. Her
analyst told her this was as much to do with her as them, that her equally
demanding appetites led her unerringly to the wrong men.
She
smiled at this thought as she checked herself in the bathroom mirror. Dark,
olive skin (mother’s side), hair black and thick, bunched back over her ears
and desperately needing attention, eyes deep green and staring back at her with
a disturbing intensity, nose narrow and rugged like a headland running down
into the sea, mouth wide, lips thin, chin rather fine (father’s side). Neck
average and unremarkable, shoulders carrying on where the face left off,
angular and rocky, breasts slim and neat and even. Sometimes it excited her,
this dark and secretive body, but most of the time she saw it as something to
be covered quickly. To be unloaded away from bright light, like exposed film.
A
couple of hours later, she was in Theston. Wearing her black beret and black
boots and a baseball jacket
He
tore the docket from the counterfoil and, sliding open the till at his
right-hand side, began to count out the money.
‘How
many armed raids did you have in Theston?’ asked Mr Meredith.
‘That’s
not the point.’ Martin laid a fifty-pound note, three five-pound notes and
ninety pence into the tray together with the book, it could happen any time.’
He slid the cover back.
‘What
do I do now?’ asked Meredith.
‘Take
the money.’
‘Is
it electrocuted?’
‘Only
the fifty-pound note.’
‘I
don’t want a fifty-pound note. What am I going to do with a fifty-pound note?’
Martin
withdrew the note wearily, it makes it easier for us, that’s all.’
Martin
replaced the note with a twenty, two tens and two fives.
‘What
would I do with a fifty-pound note, old boy? I’m too old to buy wedding rings.’
He chortled with laughter. ‘Eh?’
Martin
gave a weak smile. ‘My mind was elsewhere.’
‘What?
I can’t hear you through this thing.’
John
Parr watched him go. He grinned. Martin clipped the fifty-pound note back with
the others and slid his till shut. John Parr sniffed, twitched, blinked and
leaned across to him. ‘Now you know why they put those screens up, Mart. It’s
to stop us shooting the customers.’
Nine
After
much persistence Ruth had felt the first flickerings of a
friendship with Mrs Wellbeing. It turned out her name was Rose. She’d married
Ted Wellbeing quite late in life after nursing him through a long illness. Ruth
had begun by regarding her as prudish and censorious and Rose, as it turned
out, had jumped to the conclusion that Ruth must have been a scarlet woman,
hiding out from some scandalous love affair. The shared relief in finding each
other wrong helped them to a sort of friendship. Rose Wellbeing determined that
Ruth should meet someone. She didn’t think it was right that an attractive
thirty-five-year-old should still be unattached. She began by bringing her the
local paper with interesting events ringed. These included folk evenings and
dressmaking classes and even Mothers’ Union meetings: ‘You could say you
were a mother.’ Ruth resisted, as politely as she could.
Theston
Fair seemed the perfect answer. By ancient tradition the first Saturday in
November was set aside for this annual festival which celebrated Queen
Victoria’s granting of a borough charter in November 1893. As this year was
centenary year it was to be celebrated with even greater enthusiasm than usual.
It was, Rose assured her, an occasion not to be missed, one that would offer
Ruth a chance to observe the locals without being too conspicuous. Even so, she
woke up on the appointed day feeling apprehensive As she selected an outfit she
realised that although she had many friends back in America, she hadn’t had to
make them. They mostly came with the job. And they were nearly all women. She
was not entirely comfort, able with men. They were so unpredictable. Friends
pals and buddies one minute and urgent, demanding appetites the next. Her
analyst told her this was as much to do with her as them, that her equally
demanding appetites led her unerringly to the wrong men.
She
smiled at this thought as she checked herself in the bathroom mirror. Dark,
olive skin (mother’s side), hair black and thick, bunched back over her ears
and desperately needing attention, eyes deep green and staring back at her with
a disturbing intensity, nose narrow and rugged like a headland running down
into the sea, mouth wide, lips thin, chin rather fine (father’s side). Neck
average and unremarkable, shoulders carrying on where the face left off,
angular and rocky, breasts slim and neat and even. Sometimes it excited her,
this dark and secretive body, but most of the time she saw it as something to
be covered quickly. To be unloaded away from bright light, like exposed film.
A
couple of hours later, she was in Theston. Wearing her black beret and black
boots and a baseball jacket
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