~#~
Flash Paper
"How are we going to fit the desk through the doorway?" Rob folds his arms and leans against the wall.
"Turn it on its side," Sam replies.
"How's that going to help? The legs are too long." Rob pulls out a pack of cigarettes and offers them to Sam.
"You push the legs through first, and turn it as you go." Sam shakes his head at the proffered packet and Rob lights one himself.
"Take the drawers out before we turn it." Sam steps round the end of the heavy pine desk and pulls out the bottom drawer, "what's this then?" He picks up a small twisted piece of metal from inside, and holds it up for Rob to see.
"How should I know? Julie said the desk was empty. It was full of junk, she threw it all out."
Putting the metal to one side Sam removes the other drawer, balancing it on top of the first one.
Rob puts out his cigarette and grasps the end of the table, "one, two, three, turn."
They lay the table down on its back side and Sam stands up straight and stretches. "Who's going first?"
"Well you know what you're doing, so swap ends; you'll have to go up the steps backwards."
"No problem." Rob and Sam swap round, and are soon lifting the heavy desk through the doorway.
"Hold on, don't push," Sam shouts, let me move the coat rack out the way.
They rest the piece of furniture down and Sam removes the coats from the rack and places them on the stairs. He slides the rack along to the sitting room door.
Rob is idly running his hand along the surface of the desk as he waits. In the opening where the drawers belong his fingers brush against some paper. He slides his hand inside and leans over to look.
On the underside of the desk there is an envelope taped to the wood. Rob peels it off carefully.
"Hey, look at this!"
"Last Will and Testament" Sam reads, leaning over.
Rob opens the envelope carefully and extracts the contents. Unfolding it he skims through the writing.
"Oh, crap!" Rob exclaims, "...blah, blah, to my children, Juliet Gertrude Baker, and Robert Edgar Baker, the sum of three thousand pounds each... the residue to go to Belinda Naomi Biggleswade, faithful companion in my twilight years."
Sam holds up the envelope, and a small piece of paper falls out. Written in crabby old fashioned handwriting, Sam struggles to decipher it, and hands it to Rob.
"'A thousand pounds per visit looks like a good deal to me. You may both take a small treasured article from the house as well. Belinda will make you welcome, I am sure. Your Father, William J. Baker.' Sam, this isn't my table. We'll have to tell Julie- and stop her selling the house!"
~#~
Flash Drive
Sitting on the coach at the sports arena, waiting for the trip to begin.
We hadn't, of course actually been to the sports arena, but they have a good sized car park which we don't. Teenagers tend to get quite rowdy on the way out; I'm already looking forward to the homeward journey. Peace and quiet as they struggle to stay awake, not knowing what might happen to them if they fall asleep.
Today, there is a pair of boys trying to get a song going.
"I know a bear that you all know..."
"Shut it! We haven't even started moving yet!"
"A yellow bird..."
"What's the hold up, driver?" one of them calls out.
As the driver is not yet on board, I ignore him, as do the other two staff.
Doug turns to Adam, "what is the hold up?"
"Adam consults a list of names on his clipboard, "we're waiting for John Smith."
"We have a real life 'John Smith'?" Doug snickers.
"Don't be mean, his names actually Bullock-Smith, so Smith is the better option. Last year's camp he was called B-S all week, so now he's just Smith."
I look at my watch; we're only waiting for one more, and it's five minutes before the coach is due to leave. I get off the coach and join the driver in a cigarette. I stick to the rule if the driver is still smoking, you can't be late onto the coach. We exchange a few comments on the weather, and just as I finish my cigarette a car pulls up. The boy who gets out looks about fifteen, with short dark hair and glasses. He opens the boot and removes a huge rucksack. The driver helps him stash it under the coach and closes the door to the hold. Smith and I board the coach and Doug walks to the back.
"Seatbelts on. Seatbelt Marshall, and you Martin, sit down. Move that bag out the aisle or it will go rolling to the front as soon as we move. Nice to see a rubbish bag, make sure you use it. One, two, three..."
Doug counts each person as he walks backwards towards the front of the coach. He sits down in the seat opposite me. "Let's rock and roll chaps!"
The coach pulls out of the car park and soon we're on the motorway. The rhythmic sound of the road has lulled Adam to sleep. I look at my watch, another two hours and we should be there. I wonder how Adam can sleep with the racket the boys are making. Although many of them are playing games, or listening to music, there is a healthy stream of chatter coming from the back.
"...but you can't just tweet stuff and expect your dad not to find out..."
"...what do you mean, you haven't seen Top Gun?"
"...oh my gosh, I don't think I packed my towel!"
The coach driver brakes sharply and Adam jolts awake, looking around to see if anyone saw him napping. The boy in the seat nearest the staff nods knowingly, "It's alright sir, I made sure nobody did anything. It's cool man."
I look out the window, feigning ignorance. In the reflection I can see the small blue hair bow clipped to the top of Adams head.
~#~
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