(The opening sentence for this story was suggested by Inese of Making Memories. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future opening sentence for these stories, please leave your suggestion in the comments – only one suggestion per person!)
Trudy knew better than to be alone with Mr Hughes. No, he wasn’t one of those. Nor was he one of those.
Trudy and Mr Hughes went way back. She had always called him Mr Hughes, even though they were roughly the same age and had been neighbours for a long time. These days he had retired, as had Trudy, but his cognitive processes were more than slightly on the wane. Trudy leaned towards kindness, but it was disconcerting that in his dotage Mr Hughes was calling on her nearly every day, and sometimes twice a day.
Throughout the years Trudy never knew what Mr Hughes did. She had asked but he would never really say. He tried once to explain that he worked as a “handyman”, but where and how he did so was never properly explained.
Now in his current state Trudy found out; he had been a spy working for the police department. His job was simply to suss out the burglars, and tax avoiders, and bigamists, and so on. Did Trudy want to know about the Chesterton Family down the road? Possibly not, but she got a blow by blow account nonetheless. And the Browns. And the Archers. And the Cuthbert household. The list and narratives of private information went on and on.
Then things got worse. He had spent some time in the secret service and started to tell Trudy some highly scary political things. Not only did Trudy not want to know, but she was frightened to know. Knowledge of such things can put one in danger. Trudy informed the police.
Some people came and took Mr Hughes away. It was a sad tragedy several days later when Mr Hughes fell off his roof while cleaning the spouting.
“But he wasn’t even home,” observed Trudy.
It wasn’t long before Trudy herself was visited by the same people who had taken Mr Hughes away.
Oh I so love what you did with my opening sentence, Bruce. Trudy should know better than to reveal such delicate information. Her being observant won’t help either, I am afraid…
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Thanks for the comment Inese. And thank you for the opening sentence!
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The pleasure is mine!
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Whenever someone tells me that he’s a handyman I smile and nod.
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I’ve never known one (that I know of).
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Someone told me once that if I ever ran into trouble I should get a hold of his cousins from Chicago, who worked for 10%. I smiled and nodded.
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You are a true man of the world!
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*smiles and nods*
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Apparently too much nodding make you go blind.
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Excellent piece of crafting and misdirection.
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Thank you, Doug!
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The old phrase “leave well enough alone”… Trudy would have done well to learn it.
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Trudy should have kept her yap shut. Or her door. Oh well.
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Preferably her door.
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Never known a handyman? Hmmm…that must mean you do all your own work. I do like the way you zip a story up in an unexpected way…
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Thank you, Lisa!!
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That was an engrossing story told marvellously and with the usual but a brilliant twist. I cannot even begin surmising who of the two characters was a bigger fool. The conclusion has the inimitable mark of the master story teller.
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Thank you Uma. As you know the quality of the story can stem from the quality of the supplied opening sentence!
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You see, pyjamas are an Indian obsession. Without them, we can’t go to sleep, or indulge in other luxuries of life associated with the act, such as dreaming!
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They are a great invention! I don’t know what we did in British Society prior to Victoria being declared the Empress of India and pinching lots of ideas, e.g. pyjamas and curry.
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Well, that was a downer of an ending!
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Perhaps the downer ending was a reflection of life!
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Trudy was obviously an agent for the other side! Funnily enough this made me think of an old neighbour – my mother and her were friends and similar in age but my mother always called her Mrs —-. And what was her first name? Trudy….
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My mother always introduced herself as Mrs Goodman. When I was in the seminary everyone’s parents were always called by their first names – except for Mum who was called Mrs Goodman! There was only one exception – one person called her Aunty Doreen – and that was a first cousin of mine!!
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