LITMIR.BIZ

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weeks, Roger. One month’s notice. That’s it.” London’s words echo in his head.

      His dreams now have dramatic sound tracks while still searching for Seal Flipper Pie with Boss Man looming over his shoulder as the Anti-Christ.

      His horoscope this week advises minimal communication with those who pay lip service to the truth. For Roger, it has never been more than a job at best but it delivers a good, regular income. They desperately need this income. He decides to tread carefully around Boss Man; the added knowledge that he has confided in London is playing on his growing gut knot!

      On the morning of his scheduled visit to Boss Man he is awake early. It is still pitch-black outside.

      He drives slowly, as if hoping in some juvenile way that he might never arrive at his destination. The radio is on but he hears only white noise preferring the sound of silence. With the heater on full blast, he can feel his eyebrows starting to smoulder. As he approaches his destination, he grips the steering wheel so hard his fingers hurt.

       Where the hell is Dr Who and his sonic screwdriver when you need him?

      After an agonising ten minutes of turning himself into a mental pretzel, and urinating enough to water a dusty country, he mans up.

      Entering Boss Man’s office, he hopes his face will reveal none of his anxiety. Or the fact he desperately now needs to dump a log the size of a small animal.

      Roger is not a Yes Man and holds a poor opinion of those who are. He has never played that game of kissing ring fingers, bowing and scraping in order to please. With his debonair attitude, often he would have more chance of selling a drowning man a glass of water than blowing smoke up Boss Man’s arse.

      The office bears few of the usual Christmas decorations as Boss Man is humourless. He has lost his lip toupee and gained a few facial lines around his eyes since last they met. His bloodshot eyeballs are swivelling. If he turns his head quickly, they might pop out of their sockets. A long streak of misery, Boss Man is not wearing his normal suit and tie. Roger is quite sure he sleeps in them. Must be his dress down Friday on a Monday, Roger concludes.

      He is obviously not intending to call on clients today. Good, at least that means he will be staying away from mine.

      Roger has finally decided to damn it all to hell and give plenty of notice, now is the time to formalise his intention.

      “I’m tendering two months notice to finish up mid February 1971 as we’re due to leave for Australia in the March,” Roger blurts, “hopefully, that will give you plenty of time to find my replacement?”

      Before Roger can draw breath he realises he has just blabbed the whole scenario. Not exactly the best example of tact and diplomacy, he thinks.

      Boss Man looks at Roger through fish-cold eyes swimming behind chunky glasses, as if Roger has just announced he is selling burial insurance.

      “Two months should suffice, Roger. Any chance of extending if I have trouble replacing you?”

      “No, sorry.”

      Roger has an unmistakeable urge to reach across the desk and slap Boss Man silly. He almost said, instead mouthed to himself, “Two months notice and you want more, this isn’t Oliver Twist.”

      Smiling Roger continues. “Sorry, but our March departure is confirmed.”

      Boss Man is grimacing slightly, as if he has just swallowed his cuff link.

      After a month of knock backs their decision about Fred seems painfully inevitable. Unfortunately, Dr Doolittle is proven right.

      Fingers trailing up her cheek, Sue summarises. “The problem is Fred still being so young, a puppy really.”

      “He’s still in the process of being house trained and Bassett Hounds are notorious. No-one wants a free dog, even with a good pedigree, that digs up everything outside, chews the whole kit and caboodle, and still shits and wees inside.”

      Sue tucks her hair back from her eyes. “The vet’s advice is Fred will fret in a new home without Jayne and James. He calls it separation anxiety. Maybe we have no choice but to consider his professional advice.”

      On the appointed day, Roger takes Fred on his last visit to the veterinary surgery.

      Dr Doolittle looks mournfully at Fred and shakes his head, “Such a shame to have to put him down, Roger. I won’t do it right now, it’ll be too hard on you having to watch. I’ll keep him over night out the back in comfort, well fed and I’ll take care of it, later.”

      Roger is relieved, the drive down had been heart wrenching enough.

      As he pays the bill for euthanizing Fred, the dog looks at him pitifully.

      Roger strokes the dog’s nose one last time and departs a little blurry eyed.

      On the weekend, they decide to pay Roger’s Grandparents a personal visit; a first since the breakup of the family business. This is not something Roger feels they can do justice by writing a letter. As Gran and Gramps have no phone their visit will indeed be the biggest surprise since Eve ate the apple.

      Roger knocks loudly. Nothing. He knocks again and hears almost incoherent voices.

      Gran and Gramps are delighted to see them and their great grandchildren on their doorstep despite Gramps being sick with a bad chest.

      “Too many smokes and neglect over the years has finally caught up with me,” he announces with a rattle.

      In the flat Gran’s crocheted doilies, china figurines, and knickknacks are everywhere.

      Sue comments nervously, “Jayne would have a field day if she stayed here.”

      Gran is as fat and jolly as ever. She has a habit of sucking on her dentures.

      Both Gran and Gramps appear to have aged about ten years in three. They have transitioned from mature-aged to the much less optimistic label of ‘elderly’. Their flat is dated; their furniture has lost its lustre.

      None of this matters to Roger because he is blind to their faults. To him they have become historic treasures.

      Sue sips some tea from a chipped rose-pattern cup and toys with a biscuit on her plate, while Jayne explores the china figurines and James grunts.

      They laugh and joke, and their planned departure to Australia is applauded with so much enthusiasm that Sue and Roger become embarrassed.

      Gramps rattles, “If the weather and economy stays like this through summer, half the country will become suicidal, and the other half seriously contemplate it.”

      Gran and Gramps hold James and Jayne while reminiscing about Roger.

      Gran recalls. “The way your face radiated joy as a baby, you were such a happy child. Unlike your father who was the opposite. You’d lay in your cot all gummy grins and twinkling eyes, podgy arms and legs.”

      Gramps closes his friendly eyes and his lips tremble, “I enjoyed holding your tiny hand to the shops and giving you horsey rides around the scullery.” He sighs and looks sad when he tickles James and adds, “Sorry, James, I’m too old. I’m out of horsey rides now.”

      “If he gets down on the floor now, we’ll never get him back up again,” Gran reinforces with a pixie grin.

      “And when you used to run along the landing but miss the two steps down at the end,” Gran laughs, “your legs just kept going. Like in a cartoon.”

      “Priceless,” Gramps adds with a wheezy laugh.

      Memories flood back, the old man and his stories of Coco the clown. Roger riding on his back like a jockey around the small kitchen at their flat in Barlby Road.

      Unbeknown to all except closest family Gramps is illiterate and he told stories because of this. He remained a guard on the railways because promotion to train driver would be like walking through a minefield with him having to prove his literacy.

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