RIP Sammy. We will love you as wife and mother forever. Frank and Ali.
Ed sat looking at the picture, at the sweet blue eyes, the straight brown hair, the slightly pug nose and less than perfect skin. Not a stunner, but there was something charming and kind about her, an innocence and purity. Not an ounce of nastiness in the face, an uncut diamond.
He sprang down off the bed, through onto the landing and down the stairs with the speed of a kingfisher.
It’s too sad. Frank and Ali seem so sweet. It must be terrible for them, thought Ed, as he came to rest in the middle of the living room.
The lock on the front door rattled and clunked as if a fat-fingered fool was trying hopelessly to find the hole. Finally there was a satisfying, ‘clunk’ and the door creaked open on its tired hinges. The cluttering of coats being arranged on an overcrowded rack in the hallway ensued, and then Frank entered with another man, small, wiry and completely bald. Ed jumped into his basket and sat upright with his front paws hanging over the raised side.
“Fucking hell, man, three and a half thousand pounds for insurance. That’s crazy. That’s ten pounds a day, plus twenty pounds a day to the cab company, petrol, MOT and tyres. They’re having a laugh. How can I even afford to do that job? I want to work but it is just not cost effective. I would lose money if anything, even working a six-day week.”
“Yeah, but you can’t be on benefits for ever, Joe. That’s just soul destroying.”
“I know, I don’t want to but what can I do? It doesn’t make sense. You would think that there would be an improvement in lifestyle for those that want to work, not a step down. Billy was telling me as well that he gets at least two traffic tickets a week; that’s a hundred and forty quid on top right there. That would wipe out any potential profit in the first place.”
The couple moved through into the kitchen, followed by Ed who took up residence in basket number two.
“Do you want a cuppa?”
“All right then, a quick one. I have to go in a minute.”
Frank took the kettle, spun the hinged lid open with his thumb and ran it under the tap, filling it and then placing it on the protuberant power receptacle for boiling. It soon started to chunter away in a manner that could relax even the most stressed in need of tea.
“Well he should park in the proper places.”
“It’s not like that. How can you pick up a passenger who lives on a street with a yellow line restriction? They order the car for their house, not two hundred yards up the road. Those fucking black cabs get away with it. They have their union and powerful lobbyists. Mini cabs have nothing. It’s ridiculous. Not even a fucking union . Why should I subject myself to that pain?”
“Why is the insurance so high?” queried Frank.
“She said I haven’t got a no-claims history. I told her don’t be stupid, I haven’t had a car or insurance for three years and therefore I have no claims. That must count as no-claims, doesn’t it?”
“Erm, it doesn’t work like that,” replied Frank as he poured the water into the teabag-laden cups. Soon he had squeezed all their juices out and added a minimal amount of milk into the cups before they headed into the living room and slumped into the sofa.
“How does it work then?”
“Listen, Joe, if you’re not going to do it, then let’s not waste time talking about it,” replied Frank, bored by his friend’s lack of intelligence.
“Yeah, fuck it. I’ll keep signing on for a while and do something else anyway. It’s just that I got the offer of that car for two hundred squids and thought it might be a good idea. I didn’t realise what a fucking nightmare it’d be.”
With this, the man greedily gulped down his tea and placed the completely empty cup on the carpet.
“Listen, Frank, sorry mate, but I have to go. Lizzy will fucking kill me if I’m late,” said Joe as he rose and headed towards the door.
“See ya,” said Frank, remaining seated.
“Yeah, see ya,” replied Joe as he pulled the front door open just as Ali arrived with outstretched key.
“Oh, hi, Ali. I’m off. Nice to see ya.”
“Yeah, nice to see you, Uncle Joe,” replied Ali as they passed each other and switched places, the door slamming shut between them more from carelessness than ignorance.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, Ali; the kettle’s boiled. I’ll have another cup,” exclaimed Frank as he polished off his last mouthful of liquid, just as there was a knock at the door.
“That’ll be Carter. Let him in, Dad, he’s going to mend the computer,” exclaimed Ali.