Page 9 of Martin


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  So taking Alistair’s advice, that’s just what I did. After an early breakfast with Alistair I began my journey home. Before we started our drive away from the complex I was again blindfolded. This time however, I did not see the fun in it at all. In fact, I thought the whole idea of being blindfolded just downright preposterous. However, I managed to console myself with the thought that I would soon be home, and hopefully back to some vestige of normality.

  I was at long last allowed to remove my blindfold within about five miles of my house. I could feel the anticipation steadily building as we drew nearer, and there it was, my house. We had finally arrived. The driver opened the door for me, fetched my small suitcase, bid me farewell, and then he was gone.

  As I was about to go through the gate there was a voice from behind me. I turned to find Mr Winterbourne from the house over the road. I didn’t know his first name: I suspected that I would have to live in the village for at least ten years before I would find that out.

  ‘Been somewhere nice have we then? He asked.

  He had some bloody cheek! Since I had moved here he hadn’t even bothered to give me the time of day. All he was now doing was just being a nosy old git! Still, I suppose I had to try to be neighbourly to him. He wants to know where I’ve been? Now that’s a good one: how was I supposed to answer that? The thought crossed my mind that I should actually tell him the truth, with the result that he would think I was completely barmy, and then he would then never speak to me again. Now that did rather amuse me!

  ‘Good afternoon to you Mr Winterbourne, and how are you today? You’re looking very well.’ That should throw him, giving him a compliment like that!

  I could see that he had not expected my remark as he paused before saying, ‘I’m very well. Just back from holiday are we?’

  ‘I’ve just been away for a couple of days visiting some friends Mr Winterbourne, that’s all, nothing too exciting I’m afraid.’

  We said our goodbyes and I was finally inside my house and back to normality. I knew that I must be back in the real world, as once again I had my grumpy old neighbour – who, as it now turned out, was also a nosy neighbour - to spy and frown on me when I jogged past his house. Yes, it was without doubt, good to be back home.

 
Andrew Weaver's Novels