“Are you okay, son?” enquired the middle-aged man, looking a little concerned.
“Aye, I reckon so, Mister,” Roger said, stuffing the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth with a finger.
“Are your parents nearby?” asked the middle-aged woman.
“Er, … no. There’s only me and me dad. Me mam’s in Heaven.”
“Then where’s your dad?” the middle-aged man asked.
Roger considered the question a moment before answering.
“Me kite got stuck in that old tree over there,” Roger began, pointing a finger, “and me dad climbed up to get it back for me.”
The middle-aged couple looked at one another, both appearing puzzled as to why this young boy’s father was absent.
“So, where is your dad right now, son?” the middle-aged man enquired.
Roger momentarily pondered the question. Then, with the natural innocence of a child aged seven, he replied.
“Aw, I reckon after he freed me kite, me dad went for a swim.”
Roger Preston was taken by the middle-aged couple to the nearest police station in Bridlington. Mr Preston’s body was recovered later that same day.
A Most Unfortunate Life: Part 2
Roger had spent some happy years growing up with his aunt and uncle in a small village on the outskirts of Leeds, making a couple of good friends along the way – and more than his fair share of enemies due to several unfortunate instances. But now at the age of 35 and living alone in his rented council house, he was prepared and confident that whatever fate had in store for him, he’d cope because finally he was the master of his own destiny. Having had numerous jobs throughout his working life, and not being particularly impressed with any, he’d decided to become a self-employed painter and reap the benefits and financial rewards that working for himself would eventually bring.
It was Monday morning, the start of a brand new week. And it was a special day, a day when his very first customer would see the results of his craftsmanship with a paint brush and roller. It’s true that Roger was feeling a little nervous as he loaded his tools into the back of the white Ford van that morning but, his excitement was steadily rising too. He also felt a sense of pride at his business logo on either side of the vehicle which read, ‘Jolly Roger’s Colours’, with a skull and crossbones flag below the lettering.
Bradbury Towers stood out like a monolith against the skyline of the surrounding area overlooking Leeds City Centre as Roger pulled into the parking zone in front of the tower block. Like a man on a very important mission he quickly gathered together his tools, locked the van securely, and marched forward to the entrance and punched in the flat number on the intercom.
“Painter?” enquired the female voice over the intercom.
“Yeh, Roger Preston. Not too early am I?”
“No. Come on up.”
A shrill beep sounded as the door automatically unlocked. Roger struggled to pull the door open wide enough for him and his large bag of tools and step ladders to enter the building. Luckily for him help arrived as a female pensioner who approached from inside the hallway entrance and wanting to leave, pushed open the heavy door and kept it open as Roger began to make his way through it and into the hallway.
“Ouch!” cried out the female pensioner in pain as the step ladders accidentally hit her in both knees.
“Oh, I’m ever so sorry, love – are you okay?” Roger asked as he quickly swung around to face her, unwittingly smashing the old lady in the stomach with his large bag of tools and causing her to cry out in pain once again. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry! So very, very sorry!”
Winded by the force of the impact of the large bag of tools, the breathless woman managed just two words, “Clumsy idiot!”
Roger, filled with a deep sense of guilt, remained silent as he watched the old lady pensioner limp away down the pavement.
The lift doors closed as Roger pressed the button for the 16th floor.
An hour later Roger stepped from the lift on the 16th floor, having been trapped in it on the 5th floor due to a mechanical failure and subsequently having to be rescued from it by the Fire Brigade. Not to be deterred, he proceeded directly to his customer’s flat and pressed the doorbell.
The customer, a shapely woman in her late thirties, had the spare bedroom cleared of furnishings the previous day and this meant that Roger could begin to paint without delay, which he did. The ceiling first, walls second, and the gloss paint last was the plan.
The time was nearing midday and sandwich time as the shapely customer brought with her a steaming cup of coffee into the spare bedroom, starting a friendly round of small-talk as she did so. She complimented Roger’s emulsion work on the ceiling and walls, then asked how long it would take him to do the woodwork; his reply was just a couple of hours at most. She did appear to be pleasantly surprised and grateful that the room would be finished that very day. With the spare bedroom door left wide open, it wasn’t long before Frosty, the customer’s pet white kitten, entered.
“You’ve got a pussy then?” Roger playfully quipped, noticing the moggy.
The shapely woman giggled to herself a moment before answering.
“Yes, her name’s Frosty. Had her a couple of weeks now.” She picked up Frosty and began to cuddle her like a baby. “Cute, isn’t she?”
“She’s very white, just like a baby seal.” Roger noted.
“Frosty’s very curious, she pokes her nose into everything.”
“Well, you know what the saying is about curiosity and cats …” joked Roger.
The two continued chatting idly until Roger had eaten his sandwiches and once again began working on the room. The shapely woman took Frosty with her as she exited, closing the door behind her.
By mid-afternoon most of the room’s woodwork had been glossed, and only the window itself needed to be painted. Roger partly opened the window, not only to let out the paint fumes, but also to gain better access to the sides of the frame. Before starting, he thought it a good idea to visit the bathroom and did so without delay, leaving the door of the spare bedroom wide open.
Frosty scampered into the spare bedroom just a moment later. The kitten noticed a butterfly fluttering outside the window. To a cat, anything that moves is fair game. And just seconds later, Frosty leapt for the window like a fearless lion, launching herself out through the opening and into a most unpleasant surprise.
The time was nearing 5:30 p.m. as Roger put away the last of his tools in the large bag, contented he’d completed the work in a single day. The shapely female customer was delighted with the results, and complimented him as she handed over the payment for the job.
The time came for Roger to leave.
“I’ll carry your bag for you, Roger,” the shapely woman started, “the step ladders must be awkward devils to hump around.”
Roger agreed to her offer.
Outside in the parking zone, the shapely female customer suddenly dropped the step ladders and let out a blood-curdling scream of sheer horror as she noticed Frosty’s splattered corpse on the windscreen of Roger’s van. Roger was momentarily speechless as he too, saw the flattened and bloody corpse of the kitten.
“Oh my God – I’m so sorry! So very, very sorry!” he announced.
Roger Preston never heard from his first customer again. He continued to run his painting business until his insurers finally refused him cover for accidental damages. And cats don’t always land on their feet – it all depends on what height they fall from.
End of stories.
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