Scaife & Scaife

By Roger Wood

Wesley and Rennie are twins, identical, inseparable. They grow up together, bunk off school together, and end up working together, the family business: SCAIFE & SCAIFE - Fish Wet Dried and Fried. Well, Rennie does the frying. Wes is happier behind the scenes, sorting out the tricky business. Originally the shop, bought the compensation for their dad's accident, was run by their mam and her chap, Arthur Pate. But that was just one of the tricky businesses that Wes took it upon himself to sort. SCAIFE & SCAIFE is a new Twisted Tale from the author of RAZORBACK and THE ANATOMY INSPECTOR.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Wood
• Release date: Sep 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370977666

Roger Wood

I have graduated four times from three different English universities and have a PhD in Radio Drama. I used to be a local politician and ran an advice centre. Now I am a magistrate and write inflammatory political material for my local political party.

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Scaife & Scaife

A Twisted Tale

by

ROGER WOOD

Copyright 2017 Roger Wood

Published by Roger Wood at Smashwords

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Table of Contents

Scaife & Scaife

About Roger Wood

Other stories by Roger Wood

Scaife & Scaife

1.

Wes had this joke. I was born the year before you, Ren, so I must be a year older, right? It stands to reason. Took me ages to fathom it out. I sometimes wonder if that's what made me so introspective. That's what they call it now, 'introspective'. Back then, if you were lucky, they called you 'quiet' or 'soft'. Not so lucky, they called you 'simple'. I don't blame Wes, I blame his joke. I mean, when we started school, how was I supposed to make friends when Wes was telling the other lads, We're twins, me and our Rennie, but I'm a year older than him. They laughed and jeered, not because they got the joke or found it funny but because they knew Wes expected them to. He's always had a cruel streak has Wes.

More than once I asked our mam: Mam, our Wes tells the other lads he's a year older than me. That can't be right, can it? I mean, we're twins. Mam would groan and tell me not to talk daft. Mam would never let me say anything bad about Wes on account he was her favourite. Mam said I took after our dad. Dad was quiet. He kept himself to himself. He was out at work most of the time when we were little. When he came home he'd sit in the back yard, bum parked on the third step down - Wes says you could see the groove where the bones of his skinny backside wore it away - elbows on knees, chin propped between his fists, and he'd stare at nothing in particular until it went dark or came on to rain. If you asked him what he was doing, more often than not he'd ignore you. Not being rude, mind, just lost in his thoughts. Sometimes, though, he'd tell you he was contemplating. You asked Mam what he meant by that, she'd sigh and say, No one will ever know what goes on in that head of your father's. Good job he's a grafter, else he'd be neither use nor ornament.

A deep one then, our dad. I take after him. Wes, he's like our mam, loud in his opinions and forever on the go. Calling a spade a shovel and fretful if he's not kept busy. We're different in that regard, always have been. Not that I don't have opinions, mind, or that I don't like to be occupied, it's just I don't feel the need to tell the world. To look at us, you'd think we were two peas in a pod but Mam never had to dress us different because nobody ever mistook one for the other. Wes was always the one you saw first, me his silent shadow. So silent that the day came when the teachers at our school wanted to get me tested. Wes was furious when he heard. There's nowt wrong with you, Rennie.