Wonderful Short Stories Read online

  Title Page

  WONDERFUL SHORT STORIES

  by

  Stan Mason

  Publisher Information

  Wonderful Short Stories Published in 2013 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  The right of Stan Mason to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998

  Copyright © 2013 Stan Mason

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Bon Voyage

  At last she was going on a holiday abroad! Emily could hardly believe it. She was going on a holiday, travelling by air, to a foreign country. During her forty-five years of marriage her husband had refused to fly anywhere. He was plagued by a terrible fear of flying and they always went on holiday by car to a variety of resorts fairly close to home braving the British climate. Now that he had passed away, she felt the thrill of being able to travel to foreign climes to see the natives of different countries in their own environment. The travel agent laughed loudly when she saw Emily’s jubilation after making the booking for her. She had arranged thousands of holidays for people to destinations all over the world but she had never seen anyone so excited before.

  ‘You’ll need to get a passport,’ she advised her customer helpfully. ‘You can get the appropriate forms at the local Post Office and you’ll also be able to get your passport photographs there. They have a cubicle set aside for that purpose. And, as far as your currency is concerned, your bank will arrange it although we can do it for you if you wish.’

  ‘The Post Office,’ repeated Emily, listening carefully to the advice. ‘Right, that’s where I’m off to now.’

  She left the travel agency, having paid the deposit on the booked holiday, and went directly to the Post Office. There was indeed a cubicle in the corner which she had never noticed before. For a small sum of money, it offered four instant photographs to customers. She pulled the curtain aside and sat on the chair staring at the mirror inside to make sure she looked all right. She raised her old hat so that it didn’t hide her forehead and began to read the instructions on the panel in front of her. The printing was so small she was forced to don a pair of spectacles to see them clearly. After she had done so, she considered the process to be most complicated. However, she inserted the coins, pressed the buttons and waited, staring hard at the screen in front of her. Nothing happened. She waited a little longer but still nothing happened. She leaned out of the cubicle and called out to the people in the queue waiting their turn for stamps and pensions hoping that someone would come and help her.

  ‘Excuse me, but this machine isn’t working! It’s not working.’ However, no one went to her aid so she went back inside and pressed all the buttons again before striking the machine hard with her umbrella as if that would set it off. Before she actually got back on the seat again, bright lights began to flash in front of her and, despite the fact that she was totally unprepared, the four photographs were taken in quick succession. She was shocked when she saw them a short while later after they emerged from a panel outside the booth. Her face had a dead-pan expression, her hat was firmly screwed down over her forehead at an incongruous angle, she was wearing her spectacles, and the film looked as though she had either fallen off the seat or was deliberately trying to avoid the camera. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going to go through all that commotion again. Two of the photographs were going to be sent to the authorities in order for her to obtain a passport.

  She then went to her bank and pressed the bell at the Enquiries Desk. All the bank tellers appeared to be free but no one moved to the desk to help her. She rang the bell again, after staring at them bleakly, and one of them came across reluctantly to answer the call.

  ‘Yes?’ enquired the bank clerk sharply. ‘What do you want? I hope it has nothing to do with bank statements. The computer’s off-line at the moment!’

  ‘No, it’s nothing like that. I’d like some foreign money because I’m going abroad on holiday,’ returned Emily calmly.

  ‘Wouldn’t we all?’ retorted the bank clerk miserably. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To Spain,’ advanced Emily smiling.

  ‘Spain! What do you want to go there for? Have you ever tasted paella? Yuk! How much do you want and what categories?’

  ‘Categories?’ returned the customer. ‘I thought they used pesetas. You see it’s my first trip abroad ever.’

  ‘First trip abroad, eh! Well you can take sterling but I don’t recommend it. Not many places in Spain take sterling. The foreign currency is Euros in notes and coin. Travellers Cheques or Euros are preferable. The Travellers Cheques are in sterling not Euros.’

  ‘I thought you said that sterling isn’t recommended.’

  ‘Ah, yes, but Travellers Cheques are different.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why are they different?’

  ‘Because they’re cheques and not notes, that’s why? And you have to pay a commission on them. You see, you can change them at your hotel or at an agio or a cambio although they often charge a commission too. You have to be careful.’

  ‘But the hotel, agio or cambio don’t take sterling notes. Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Oh yes they do. They do. But the rate is likely to be less than Travellers Cheques in terms of Euros. Do you get it?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t,’ admitted Emily sadly. She had no idea the transaction would be so complicated.

  ‘When you get back, you can exchange any Travellers Cheques you have left over without being charged commission. The rates for Travellers Cheques are five and a quarter Euros to buy, five Euros to sell. Euros are sold at the same rate. So what would you like and how much do you need.’

  ‘Hold on a minute,’ cut in Emily thoughtfully. ‘What happens to the quarter difference between the two? Where does it disappear to?’

  ‘Look, madam,’ riposted the bank clerk with a tinge of anger in her voice. ‘We’re a bank. We don’t teach economics of foreign money. How much do you want?’

  Emily’s face twisted into a wry expression. ‘I’d like the equivalent of two hundred pounds in sterling.’

  ‘Right,’ ranted the bank clerk, her advice picking up in speed as she went on. ‘In Travellers Cheques, you can have five two hundreds or ten one hundreds, or five one hundreds and ten fifties. In Euros you can have exactly the same only we don’t do coins. But you will need some coins for tipping and for your urgent immediate needs.’

  Emily blew out her cheeks. To her it seemed an impossible barrage and she was being forced to make up her mind on the spot. ‘I wonder what an agio or a cambio is,’ she thought in a very confused state making a decision on the amounts of currency she wanted. There was never any problems like this when she went to Morecambe or Blackpool or Bournemouth.

  ‘Okay,’ continued the bank clerk, filling in the form swiftly and placing it in front of the customer. ‘You’ll need to sign here, here, here, here and here!’

  ‘All those signatures for two hundred pounds?’ criticised Emily, her mind completely saturated with financial jargon.

  ‘We have to protect ourselves,’ commented the bank clerk.

  ‘Protect you
rselves?’ repeated Emily in astonishment. ‘Against your own customers?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, the customers are worse than the bandits who come to rob us when it comes to money!’

  Emily shook her head in disbelief as she signed the document and arranged for collection of the currency a week later.

  Now, two months later, she found herself struggling down the stairs from her bedroom carrying two suitcases, a holdall, a plastic bag from the supermarket and her handbag. She dropped them in the hallway and puffed out her cheeks from the exertion before glancing at the clock on the wall.

  ‘Nearly ten o’clock,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I’d better check everything for the last time. Two suitcases, one holdall, one plastic bag and my handbag. I wonder if I’m taking enough with me.’ ‘She opened her handbag and checked inside it. ‘One passport, holiday money, and the airline ticket. Hm. I suppose I’m all set, except for the taxi coming to pick me up.’ She stood in the hallway with a slight smile on her face. ‘Just imagine. My first holiday abroad. How exciting! I hope nothing goes wrong. Now where is that taxi?’

  She went into the front room and peered out of the window. At that moment, a taxi pulled up right outside the house and she ran to the front door to open it. ‘Right on time,’ she applauded. ‘Why did I worry. I’m on my way. Nothing can go wrong now.’

  ‘I’ll take your cases, love,’ offered the taxi-driver as he walked up the path.

  Emily nodded her appreciation, took a step backwards and fell over her suitcases. The cabbie rushed forward to help her as she got to her feet groggily.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing, lady!’ he commented unhelpfully.

  Emily gingerly felt the back of her head which had made direct contact with the floor. ‘Nothing can go wrong,’ she kept saying to herself. ‘Nothing can go wrong.’

  ‘What you need is a stiff drink,’ suggested the cabbie taking the two suitcases to his vehicle and putting them in the boot.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ she agreed, going into the kitchen and returning with a bottle of gin. She opened it and took a large swig from the top. At that moment, the taxi-driver returned.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’ he asked with concern.

  His appearance was so unexpected that she lurched with fright and spilled a large amount of gin on her overcoat. ‘Oh dear, how clumsy of me,’ she muttered chiding herself. She put the top on the gin bottle, raced into the kitchen, and tried to dry her coat with a tea-towel. ‘Goodness, I smell like a brewery,’ she remarked in mock anger. ‘The cat! What did I do with the cat! Oh, yes, I left her with Mrs. Gooch down the street.’ She picked up the remainder of her luggage and closed the front door behind her. ‘Goodbye old house,’ she said under her breath. Take care of yourself for two weeks!’ And, on turning away, she walked down the path to the taxi.

  ‘By the way, love,’ began the cabbie, leaning out of the window of the driving seat. ‘I had to pick up another couple. They’re also going to the airport. I hope you don’t mind.’

  She shrugged her shoulders and climbed into the taxi to face a toffee-nosed couple sitting on the back seat. They began to sniff the gin on her coat and made a series of grunts to indicate their displeasure.

  ‘Good morning,’ greeted Emily amiably. ‘I’m Emily Gordon and this is my first holiday abroad. You see, my husband and I were married for forty-five years and he hated flying. But now he’s passed on, I decided to take the plunge.’ They both stared at her blankly, turning up their noses, refusing to speak. ‘Why am I telling them my life history?’ thought Emily sadly as she settled into her seat. ‘I don’t even know them. Mind you, I do smell like a brewery so I don’t know what they must think of me. Ah, who cares anyway? I’m on holiday!’ She looked out of the window. ‘Why is this driver going so fast?’

  The taxi tore along the motorway at tremendous speed dodging in and out of the traffic dangerously. Cars and lorries hooted the cabbie as he cut his way through but his response was to make rude signs to them as he sped passed.

  ‘As I said before,’ thought Emily. ‘Nothing can go wrong. Nothing can go wrong.’ She stared at the other couple shaking her head. ‘I bet they’ll be a bundle of laughs where they’re going I pity the people at their hotel. And this driver... he’s a lunatic behind the wheel. Is he trying to kill us all?’

  ‘Nearly there now,’ declared the cabbie eventually. ‘We might even be able to break my personal speed record for this section of the motorway... with a bit of luck!’

  ‘I knew it,’ thought Emily. ‘He’s a lunatic driver!’

  They arrived at the airport shortly and Emily stared at an aeroplane taking off. ‘Good Heavens!’ she muttered quietly. ‘Am I going up in one of those? Donald used to say that if God wanted us to fly he’d have given us wings.’

  The three passengers alighted from the taxi and the toffee-nosed couple brushed down the creases from their clothes.

  ‘Don’t smile, either of you,’ thought Emily with amusement, ‘or we’ll get a spate of thunder and lightning.’

  The cabbie returned with a trolley and loaded her suitcases on it. Then he got back into the driver’s seat and zoomed away like a rocket. No one ever knew whether or not he actually broke his personal speed record for that part of the motorway.

  Emily struggled with her trolley into the main airport lounge and then unloaded them. She flopped down on a seat in front of a screen showing the arrivals and departures of the flights. Alicante one o’clock, she read. ‘Fine. If only I could get rid of this luggage.’ She stood up to look around. At that precise moment, an announcer read a message which boomed throughout the airport over the loudspeaker system.

  ‘Baggage must not be left unattended in the airport. Any baggage found will be removed and destroyed. Thank you!’

  Emily quickly retraced her steps and placed her hand on her suitcases. She glanced at the label on the luggage of the couple sitting next to her. A Mr. & Mrs. Grant from Ipswich.

  ‘You’re such a clumsy fool,’ reproached the woman staring icily at her husband. ‘You can’t do anything right!’

  ‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’ muttered Mr. Grant quietly.

  ‘I’ve never known anyone quite so gormless. First you lose our airline tickets... ’

  ‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’ he went on almost silently.

  ‘Then you tell me you’ve displaced the passports!’

  ‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’

  ‘And when you couldn’t get the car started because you let the battery run down, well... ’

  ‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’

  Emily stared at the couple in disbelief. ‘Oh, they’re going to be a bundle of laughs wherever they’re going,’ she thought with a chuckle.

  ‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’ continued Mr. Grant solemnly.

  ‘I haven’t said anything, you silly old fool!’ chided his wife angrily all too aware of his attitude towards her.

  Emily rose to go to the toilet as the announcer made a second broadcast over the loudspeaker system.

  ‘Baggage must not be left unattended in the airport. Any baggage found will be removed and destroyed. Thank you!’

  She managed to pick up her cases and bags and struggled to the toilets pausing to catch her breath when she got there. Unfortunately, she blocked the entrance with them stalling a number of women who wanted to go inside. ‘Look,’ she told them bluntly. ‘I’m on my own and I’m not allowed to leave my baggage unattended. So if you want to get in you’ll have to help me.’

  The women complied, passing her cases from one to the other until they were neatly stacked across the lintels of the cubicles in the toilet. With the aid of some women later one, she managed to retrieve them and emerged from the toilet a short while later, struggling to get back to her seat.

  ‘... and what a performance tha
t was,’ henpecked Mrs. Grant. You rush us to the airport... ’

  ‘Shut up! shut up! Shut up!’ continued her husband quietly.

  ‘No stopping on the motorway... not even for a cup of tea!’

  ‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’

  She turned her head and sniffed loudly. ‘Where’s that smell of gin coming from. You’ve not got a bottle in your pocket, have you?’ She turned again towards her husband to find that he had fallen asleep.

  ‘A cup of tea,’ repeated Emily having listened to the conversation. She looked at the vending machine a short distance away. As she rose from her seat the announcer broadcast the message once again.

  ‘Baggage must not be left unattended in the airport. Any baggage found will be removed and destroyed. Thank you!’ There was a pause and then she continued. ‘Will passengers for Flight eight-nine-three to Alicante check in at Desk Number Two.’

  Emily breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Wonderful!’ she said to herself. ‘I can get rid of my cases! You see, nothing can go wrong. Nothing can go wrong.’ She went to the appropriate desk and stood there first in the queye waiting for the air hostess to start the procedure.

  ‘You don’t expect to get all that luggage through and not have to pay any excess,’ ranted a Geordie incomprehensively before producing a bottle of whiskey from his pocket and taking a big swig at it.

  Emily smiled at him sweetly wondering what the man had said.

  ‘Window seat or gangway?’ asked the air hostess as she invited her to come forward.

  ‘I’d like to travel with my back to the engine,’ came the reply. ‘Do you have any seats upstairs?’

  ‘Only if you want to travel at minus forty degrees on the roof of the plane, madam.’

  After asking a number of other questions, she handed all the documents to the passenger and pressed a button for the luggage to go through. However, as it moved forward on the conveyor belt, there was a loud ripping sound and the contents of one of the suitcases flew all over the place.