Elliot Sampford
Mrs Prendacast's Handbag
Cold Tea
Three weeks prior to the eventful, possibly life-changing day, Jack returned
to his family village having completed two years of his latest prison sentence.
During the last twenty years of his life fifteen of them have been spent
incarcerated at Her Majesty's pleasure:
punishment for his regular straying from the 'straight and narrow'.
His parents, Ted and
Mary, still live in the ancestral two bedroom terraced cottage. At forty-two
years old, he has no option but to live at home. As a result of his extensive
criminal record, full-time employment is not an option available to him so he
doesn't have a regular wage income, just minimal social benefits. He needs to
accept their offer of free accommodation.
Apart from when he
has to leave the village for the pointless visit to the job centre, he spends
the majority of his days sitting on one of the benches on the village green
breathing the free, fresh country air. The claustrophobia he's developed in prison
means he needs to be outside rather than spending his time sitting indoors in
the small cottage. He has spent too much 'time' in small rooms.
He knows the
majority of the villagers consider him bone-idle and not to be trusted. There
are some who use him occasionally as a cheap, cash-in-hand, dog’s body for the
unpleasant jobs they consider below their status. Mrs Prendacast and the
members of her social circle are vociferous in their public condemnation of
Jack's life style: his sponging off his parents and society.
During his most recent prison term, Jack decided he needs to change
before the cell walls crush him forever. The physical fitness routine and the education
programme he undertook had the goal of producing a new Jack.
But could he change?
Was he fooling himself?
Last Monday morning started the same as the previous three since his release.
Jack was sitting at his usual place watching the villagers going about their
normal routines. He noted the older folks going into the combination village
shop and post office. He assumed they were cashing some of their pension to buy
a few bits and bobs. He saw Mrs Prendacast go in.
He doubted if she really needed the money given the large house she
lives in and the expensive car her husband drives. When she came out, he saw
her checking her money again in her purse to make sure it was safely tucked
away. She then put the purse in her handbag which in turn she hung on her left
shoulder. The shoulder nearest to the road as she walked away from the shop.
Jack noticed a
cyclist, who he recognised from his prison days, travelling down the road
behind, and going in the same direction as the walking Mrs Prendacast. She did
not seem aware of the fast moving cyclist, that she was clearly his target, and
that the gap between them was rapidly reducing.
Jack knew what he
had to do.
He leapt to his feet
and started his dash towards Mrs Prendacast. He knew his new level of physical
fitness would get him to the right position and at the right time for his plan
to be successful.
As Jack's feet left
the soft, slippery grass of the village green, still on the opposite side of
the road to them, the cyclist drew level with Mrs Prendacast. Jack knew what
was going to happen next. As his feet came in contact with the firm, abrasive
tarmac he accelerated his sprinting speed to ensure he reached the far side of
the road in time. He had to successfully complete his part in the action.
Jack heard Mrs
Prendacast scream out: 'Help! Help me someone! He's stolen my bag! Thief! Stop
that thief!'
The cyclist had
violently grabbed the handbag from Mrs Prendacast's shoulder as he passed her.
He pushed hard on the pedals of the bike to get away as fast as he could.
He'd been
concentrating on his prey and obviously hadn't noticed Jack coming at speed from
his left. He clearly didn't see the flying tackle coming. He would suddenly have
felt the full strength and weight of Jack as the body-check crashed into his
upper torso. A pair of arms wrapped around his chest as he was forcibly grabbed
from his bike and dumped on the pavement.
The crash onto the
paving slabs appeared to knock all the air from his lungs, and the weight of
Jack's body bearing down on him, meant there was no struggle to escape or
movement of any kind by the cyclist Two workmen who had seen and heard the
mêlée of the attempted mugging ran to help Jack restrain the failed robber.
Once they had
control of the mugger Jack removed Mrs Prendacast's handbag from his grasp and
handed it back to her, with the sarcastic comment: 'Best to keep a firmer hold
of it in future. You never know if there are thieves and spongers about!'
'Thank you … Thank you … for your help,' she
stammered, 'I never expected that of you!'
Mrs Prendacast, the members of her social circle, and other villagers
are no doubt now wondering has Jack
changed from poacher to gamekeeper? Or is it part of another of his con
tricks?
But they’ll have to
wait and see – won’t they?
About the Author
Elliot
Sampford considers himself a self-taught novice short story writer although he
has maintained a weblog for several years. He moved to Spain in 2006 but now
lives mainly back in Lincolnshire in the UK, interspersed with periods in Spain
in the winter months. His weblog is: http://www.elliotsampford.blogspot.co.uk
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