Other People's Stories

By Patrick Kidd

A Dutch factory worker reaches an important milestone; the letter G is banned; a Korean scientist engages in an unorthodox protest; aliens make first contact in Harrow; a jaded circus monkey learns to love again.

At the beginning of 2014, Patrick Kidd made a resolution to write a short story every week for a whole year, based on prompts collected online. The resulting 53 stories run the gamut from comic to pensive, intimate to sweeping, realistic to fantastical - but always absorbing, thought-provoking and written in a single week.

These stories are now collected for the first time in a single volume, with a foreword by the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick Kidd
• Release date: Jun 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463142882

Patrick Kidd

Patrick Kidd has written for The Times since 2001 and is the longest serving editor of the paper’s Diary column, which he took over in 2013. He was also, until recently, the paper’s political sketchwriter, a role once filled by Charles Dickens. He is the editor of The Times Diary at 50: The Antidote to the News (HarperCollins, 2016) and the author of The Best of Enemies: Whingeing Poms Versus Arrogant Aussies (Know the Score Books, 2009) and The Worst of Rugby: Violence and Foul Play in a Hooligans’ Game Played by Gentlemen (Pitch Publishing, 2009).

Book preview

Week 1 - Ennui

John Muskett - 'A story about a circus Monkey suffering from ennui induced alcoholism, learning to love life again.'

Barnabus puffed at his cigarette. The dull repetition of the train running over the tracks was the only sound. He was alone with his thoughts in the dark carriage.

He had been living this life for five years now. No one place to call home besides the four walls of a train car and nobody he could call his friends or family. He pawed around on the floor for the bottle, and eventually, he felt its cold, glassy exterior. He lifted the bottle to his lips. A solitary drop fell from the neck on to his waiting tongue, but no more. It seemed he was out of luck.

He shrieked in anger and hurled the empty bottle, shattering it against the opposite wall.

The loud crash raised a cacophony from the next car over. The corrugated sheet metal walls were thin after all. Excited hoots, hollers, whoops and whines flitted across the air for a moment, then died down again.

It was almost pitch black and the cabin was so hot that it stifled the air. He knew they had recently passed into South America and the heat had been intolerable. A light shone for a moment through a gap in the sheet metal. It illuminated the drops of liquid on the wall that had so recently borne the brunt of his frustration. There had been more left in the bottle after all.

Barnabus picked himself up from the floor and stubbed his cigarette out on the wall. He was careful to avoid letting any ash drop on to the dry straw that lined the floor. He did not want a repeat of THAT incident.

He edged his way closer, trying not to lose his footing on the bouncing train, but he could not quite reach the wall. He strained harder, but the chain shackled around his ankle would not allow him to get any closer.

‘Eeeeek,’ he screeched and was then thrown back to the floor by a particularly bumpy piece of rail.

Struggling to right himself Barnabus flung his tail upwards in desperation. He felt it catch on something solid and used it to pull himself up. He got to his feet, before climbing up on to a metal bar. He breathed a sigh of relief, though he was no closer to the delicious whiskey that decorated the wall.

Moments later a heavy box dislodged from a shelf above his head and smashed on the carriage floor. He stared in disbelief. It seemed his luck was changing after all A few seconds earlier and he would have died. Those idiots. Didn’t they know how to secure their supplies? They could have lost their star attraction.

Barnabus felt a breeze on his face. It was almost imperceptible, but in the stuffy carriage it was a welcome change. It took him a moment to realise where it was coming from. He looked down at the floor of the carriage. The crate had dented the wall enough to create a gap. A gap that was big enough for him to crawl through.

He could be free. Free from this life that he had loathed for so long. Free from the other animals, whom he found so intolerable. He could get his life back.

Barnabus made to go out of the hole, but stopped, overcome by memories of the good old days. He hadn’t always hated this life. Back when he was first purchased from the zoo he knew he was destined for greatness.

The circus owners had spent days look at the entire litter of infants the zoo had available to sell. After a series of tests, Barnabus had been the lucky monkey selected above his siblings to train for the big top.

He had been the star of the show, and still was, but the circus was a dying concept. Once he had wowed audiences worldwide with acrobatic feats that few could reproduce. Now, thanks to the rise of MTV and the apathy of Generation X, audience numbers were dwindling. Nobody came to the circus anymore.

This decline in attendance had led to a dip in his morale, and ultimately his descent into alcoholism. Though he felt a debt of loyalty to the circus, he could not deny that nowadays it just made him miserable.

Barnabus vividly recalled the day that he stole unnoticed in to the ringmaster’s caravan. He saw what he thought was the apple juice they used to give him in an open bottle on the table. It had been a particularly hot day and he felt the need to quench his thirst. He had never looked back. Now the keepers knew to leave a bottle of whiskey in his carriage for longer journeys.

Barnabus sighed. He had made up his mind. This life had given him so much. But it was no longer giving him what he needed. He reasoned that when they reached the next station they would fix the hole. He may never have another chance to escape.

Rummaging through the straw on the floor of the carriage he dug out his battered Fez and waistcoat. Donning them for the last time he edged closer and closer to the hole in the carriage. He almost changed his mind when he saw the speed at which the ground was passing below him, but steeled his resolve.

With some effort he pushed through the gap and clung to the outside of the carriage. He tried moving off down the side of the car, using whatever handholds he could find. But his progress was impeded. He had forgotten about one thing; he was still chained to the floor.

The scenery rushed by him as he wondered what he could do. And then it came to him. The wheels of the train would cut the chain. It was dangerous, but it was the only way. If he didn’t cut through and escape, they would find him at the next station and return him to the car. He had come too far to go back now.

Barnabus took a deep breath and leaped into action. He swung underneath the train and grabbed at one of the cables that ran along the undercarriage.

For a horrifying second the cable swung away with the undulations of the train, and the ground rushed towards him at a terrifying pace. Barnabus began to fall. At the last moment the cable swung back, and he managed to grab hold. He pulled himself up to safety until his body was flush with the metal undercarriage.

Breathing heavily after his narrow escape he gathered as much of the chain as he could in his paws. He then began to let out the slack in the direction of the nearest wheel.

He tried to lower the chain on to the wheel itself, but a bump sent the links flying from his hands and on to the tracks. The wheel bounced over the chain with an audible screech, nearly knocking the carriage off course. He heard the whooping of the other animals as the train teetered briefly before righting itself.

The chain was broken. He was free. He braced himself and then let go of the undercarriage, dropping on to the ground. On landing he bounced and rolled hard. Somehow he managed to avoid ending up in the path of the wheels that had just granted him his freedom.

When the train had passed over him and the dust had finally settled, he stood up on his hind legs. He had lost his Fez in the near fall, and his already battered waistcoat was practically torn to shreds. He discarded the garment by the side of the track. He checked his body for injuries. Except for some bruising he seemed to have escaped unscathed.

Dusting himself off with his paws he checked the landscape around him. Fields surrounded him on all sides, but off in the distance he could see the faintest glimmer of green trees. Without hesitation he was off.

After the train had pulled into Lima station and all the cars had been moved to the circus site, Barnabus’ keepers approached his carriage. One produced a key and after removing the padlock, swung the large door aside.

‘Barney!’ he yelled into the carriage. ‘Where are you?’ There was no response. Helped by his colleague, he clambered up into the car and looked around for the monkey. But Barnabus was nowhere to be found. He spotted the hole in the carriage and the broken chain dangling through it and turned to his colleague.

‘Where’s Barnabus?’ she asked.

‘He’s gone...’

The ringmaster approached the circus sign with a solemn look on his face. A group of small children clustered around it, trying to get a glimpse of what the attractions would be that night.

With a heavy heart the ringmaster pushed his way through the group. With a marker pen he crossed out the words ‘The Magnificent Barnabus defies gravity with his deadly leaps and bounds!’

A chorus of disappointment rose from the group of children.

‘I know, children, I know,’ the ringmaster said in reply. ‘I am sad too.’

After what felt like an age, Barnabus approached the forest. When he finally reached the treeline the forest looked dark and intimidating. He began to think about what a huge mistake he had made. There would be no whiskey here, and no one to come and feed him. He was on his own now and would have to fend for himself.

But even if he wanted to go back, he had lost the train and would likely never find it again. He steeled himself and stepped forward in to the trees.

He was greeted with a high-pitched shrieking noise. He turned, startled, to see another monkey, clutching a piece of fruit. Barnabus was so astonished that his tiny jaw dropped. For the first time since he left the zoo all those years ago, he was looking at another member of his species.

Shocked by this discovery he could only stand there, mouth agape. At first he thought the other creature was going to try and hurt him in case he tried to steal its food. But after a prolonged silence the tension dissipated. The other monkey, who had decided that Barnabus was not a threat, broke off a piece of the fruit and timidly extended its arm in his direction.

Barnabus took it and was greeted with a satisfied ‘EEK’ from his new compatriot.

Perhaps I won’t be so lonely here after all, he thought. With a smile on his face and a newfound enthusiasm for life, he followed his new friend into the depths of the jungle.

Week 2 - Wild Things

Edward Murphy - 'A story of someone who goes into the wilds on a geocaching expedition but runs into trouble as night descends. Inadequately prepared, with no food, they half-slide down a very steep valley only to realise that they can't get across the river and even if they could there's no way out. And then the fat one (you can call him Ed, if you like) goes hypoglycaemic from lack of food.'

‘Will you just admit it already? We are lost!’ Lillian said, folding her arms across her chest.

‘We’re not lost as long as we have this!’ Edwin replied, holding up his GPS device and waving it at her for emphasis.

‘Well, where the bloody hell are we then?’

Edwin fiddled with the device for a few seconds. He squinted at the screen in the fading light. He cursed that he had not shelled out the extra £40 for the model that was backlit.

‘Well?’ She asked. Edwin could sense the impatience in her voice.

‘I, uh,’ he began. ‘I don’t know.’

‘So we ARE lost?’

Lowering his head in defeat, Edwin replied ‘Yes, I suppose we are...’

‘Well this is bloody wonderful, isn’t it? I didn’t even want to come on this stupid Geocaching trip with you in the first place. Now here I am lost halfway up a bloody mountain in the middle of bloody nowhere.’

‘We could go back the way we came...’ Edwin suggested.

‘And do you have a torch with which to guide us back along this path?’ Lillian enquired. She took her fiancé’s silence as a no. ‘We’ve been walking for hours. We would need a bloody bloodhound to find our way back!’ Lillian paused and took a deep, calming breath. ‘There will be plenty of time for me to shout at you later. What are we going to do?’

Edwin furrowed his brow and began to scan around, looking for a way back to civilisation. There were no towns or villages in sight, but in the fading light he could just about see a country road winding its way through the fields below. It was some distance away at the bottom of the mountain.

‘Down there,’ he said, pointing so Lillian could see. ‘There’s a road. That has to lead SOMEWHERE.’

‘That’s bloody miles away!’ Lillian pointed out. Then she remembered that the alternative was a night on this godforsaken mountain. ‘...let’s go,’ she added.

About twenty minutes into their trek the gloomy twilight began to settle into the dark of night time.

‘I can’t see a bloody thing,’ Edwin complained, ‘And I think I’m going to pass out. I’m becoming hypoglycaemic.’

Lillian rolled her eyes.

‘Oh is that so?!’ she snapped. ‘Well if we hadn’t come up here searching for some bloody lost treasure we could be filling our faces right now. Anyway, I saw you scoffing those three Snickers on the way up the mountain. You’ve got enough blood sugar to last five people for a month. There’s another one in your rucksack. Eat that and shut up.’

Realising that this was not the time for impudence, Edwin did as he was told.

‘Look,’ he said with a mouthful of Snickers after they had trudged on for a few moments. ‘I’m sorry. We need to stop bickering. We have to work together.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lillian asked, genuinely puzzled.

'Because,’ he replied, pointing ahead of them, ‘of that.’

Directly in front of them, and comprehensively blocking their descent, was a scree slope.

‘Oh,’ said Lilian. ‘We’re going to have to go down that, aren’t we?'

‘Yep,’ Edwin replied.

‘And there's no way around?’

‘Too dark to tell, and I don’t fancy doing it when it’s any darker if we don’t find another way.’

‘Good point.’

They turned to look at each other, and their hands met. All arguments were on hold for the moment.

‘Together?’ Lillian suggested.

‘Together,’ Edwin agreed.

They made their way gingerly to the edge of the slope. Edwin felt Lillian’s grip on his hand tighten, and squeezed back. Together they took a tentative first step on to the loose rocks. Several skidded away at the slightest touch, and Lillian winced at the sound of slate crashing below her.

‘I have an idea,’ she said.

Edwin watched as she sat down at the top of the slope.

‘Edge down slowly and you should be fine,’ she said. ‘It’ll be much easier to control our descent this way.'

Edwin nodded and sat down next to her. Together they pushed off. The going wasn't easy, but they inched their way forwards until finally they were at the bottom. They leapt to their feet.

‘We made it!’ Lillian exclaimed, and they shared a triumphant embrace.

‘I wish I could say the same for my trousers...’ Edwin said, lamenting the now thoroughly ripped seat of his cargo pants.

‘They gallantly gave their life to protect their commanding officer,’ Lillian said in a dodgy American accent. She gave a stiff salute. The pair laughed for the first time since they had left the top of the hill.

The going became a lot easier the further they got down the mountainside. For a while they walked hand in hand as the darkness grew all around them. Soon they had to rely on the camera lights from their mobile phones to see. It was hard to tell how far they were from the road, or even if they were going in the right direction. After some time, Edwin heard a splash as he put his foot down.

‘Oh, my bloody foot is soaking!’ he shouted, hopping about in a vain effort to dry his foot off.

‘A stream?’ Lillian asked in disbelief. ‘Why didn’t you mention that there was a bloody stream?’

‘I didn’t see it!’ Edwin replied, defensively.

‘How could you not see it? It’s a bloody stream! It looks like a road except it's made of water, they’re not exactly known for their stealthiness!’

‘It’s really dark!’ he protested.

Their bickering was interrupted by the sound of a car approaching from the gloom. After a few seconds the engine sounds grew louder. Headlight beams appeared across the stream, briefly illuminating it and the hedges along the road they had been aiming for. They saw the vehicle speed past a gap in the hedges.

‘There it is!’ Lillian cried. That’s our way out!’

‘But how do we get there?’ Edwin wondered.

‘There must be a bridge around here somewhere. Use your GPS. That must be able to tell us if there’s a bridge nearby.’

Edwin rummaged around in his pocket and found the device.

‘Shine your light on the screen,’ he suggested. He pressed the power button and prepared to search around the local maps. Instead, he was confronted with the Low Battery symbol, and then the screen went blank. No amount of wailing or gnashing of teeth would bring it back to life again.

‘Stupid thing,’ he declared. ‘I only put fresh batteries in this morning. What are we going to do now?’

‘Did you see how deep the stream was?’

‘Not really,’ he replied, ‘but it looked quite wide, and it’s getting chilly. I don’t want to risk hypothermia by wading across it.’

‘Then I suppose we’re stuck. We were so close too!’ Lillian sat down on the ground, defeated. After a moment Edwin joined her. ‘I don’t want to have to spend a night in the wilderness!’ she lamented. ‘I want to sleep in a nice, warm bed!’

Edwin put his arm around her shoulders and drew her in closer to him. ‘So do I, love, but the only other choice is to wade through that stream, and it’s too dangerous.’

For a while they sat in silence, contemplating the night ahead when they heard a low rumbling sound somewhere in the distance.

‘Edwin, can you hear that?’ Lillian asked, lifting her head from her fiancé’s shoulder. The noise was getting louder.

‘It sounds like it’s coming from the road, but that’s not a car.’ Edwin replied, wondering what could possibly make a noise like that.

Eventually, a set of high beam headlights swung around the corner and the owner, an old tractor, came in to view.

The pair leapt to their feet and began jumping up and down and shouting to try and attract the driver’s attention. The headlights swept past the animated couple. They heard the engine slow down and eventually cut out altogether as the tractor came to a halt.

‘Is everything alright?’ the driver shouted, getting down from the cab. He was an old, wiry man with a grey beard. He wore a tweed jacket and flat cap and looked as though he would himself have been made of tweed if he had the option.

‘We’re stuck,’ Lillian replied. ‘We’re trying to get back to a village or a town but we can't get across this river.’

‘Well, there’s a village a couple of miles down the road with a nice guesthouse. I can take you there, no problem. First of all, though we need to get you over here.’

‘Is there anywhere we can cross?’

‘Not for miles,’ the farmer replied. ‘But you may be in luck.’

He disappeared out of the glare of the headlights, fading back into the gloom. The only sign of his continuing presence was the cacophony of noise that was coming from behind the tractor.

After a couple of minutes he reappeared clutching a long ladder.

‘Had a problem with one of the barn roofs earlier, so it was lucky I had this with me.’ He lowered the ladder to the ground and extended it to its full length. He began edging it across the river until it finally reached the other bank. ‘It’ll only hold one of you at a time, and you’ll have to be careful.’

It took some time but eventually, both Edwin and Lillian reached the other side of the river. They were cold, exhausted and a little shaken, but at least they hadn't taken a nighttime dip to top it off. The farmer stored the ladder back in the trailer, and they prepared to head to the village.

‘There’s only space for two in the cab, I’m afraid,’ the farmer said as he started the tractor’s engine. ‘One of you will have to ride in the back.’

‘You go in the cab, Lil,’ Edwin said, climbing up to the trailer. ‘This whole mess is my fault.’

After a while, Lillian recovered enough energy to strike up a conversation with the farmer.

‘I'm so glad you found us,’ she said. ‘We could have been out there all night.’

‘Yes, it was a stroke of luck,’ the man replied. ‘Were you up on the mountain?’

‘Yeah, looking for treasure,’ she laughed.

The farmer furrowed his brow.

‘Well, then why didn’t you just come down the other side of the mountain? The village is just down there.’

Lillian’s eyes widened as she thought of everything that they had been through. How it all could have been avoided. She thought about what she was going to do to the stupid idiot when they got to the guesthouse. Maybe there would be some sharp implements she could use.

But when she turned to look at him sat, asleep, in the trailer she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with him anymore. They were both here and in one piece, and at the end of the day, that was all that mattered.

Anyway, why waste years of precious blackmail material?

Week 3 - The Mouse of Muswell Hill and the Hedgehog of Highgate Wood

Haydn Puleston Jones - 'A story suitable for a 4 year old called Rosie and a 2 year old called Sam, set in Muswell Hill and featuring Rosie, Sam, Highgate Woods and pain au chocolat.'

One sunny Saturday afternoon a little girl named Rosie and a little boy named Sam were playing in their garden in Muswell Hill. They had been running around and laughing all morning playing a game of tag, and now they were very thirsty.

They sat down on a bench for a break. Just at that moment their mummy came outside and brought them each a nice glass of cold lemonade.

‘That was a very fun morning, wasn’t it Sam?’ said Rosie as she sipped her lemonade.

‘Yes, it was,’ Sam replied. ‘But what are we going to do this afternoon? I want to have even MORE fun this afternoon!’

Rosie thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know. Playing tag is a very fun way to spend time! Why don’t we see if we can think of anything more fun?’

So Rosie and Sam sat there for a few moments trying to think of some more fun things to do. All the time they were sipping at their lemonade and feeling more refreshed and ready to play.

As they both finished their lemonade they heard a noise coming from behind the bench. It was very quiet but if they listened very hard they could just about hear it.

‘Can you hear that, Rosie?’ Sam asked.

‘Yes, it sounds like someone crying!’ Rosie replied.

‘But they’re very quiet!’ Sam said. ‘I wonder where they are.’

Sam and Rosie both started to look around to try and find out who was crying. They searched and searched, but they simply could not work out where the noise was coming from. As they were about to give up, Rosie had an idea.

‘I know, Sam!’ she said, excitedly. ‘If they are very quiet, then it must mean that they are very small!’

‘And if they’re very small,’ Sam replied, ‘then they might be on the ground!’

They both dropped to their knees, and right there behind the bench they could see a little mouse. The mouse was sat on its own and it was crying.

‘Hello, little mouse,’ Sam said. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Oh, hello,’ the mouse sniffed. ‘I didn’t think anyone could hear me crying.’

‘Well, we heard you!’ Rosie said. ‘My name is Rosie, and this is my brother Sam.’

‘Hello Rosie and Sam, my name is Molly Mouse.’

‘Why are you sad, Molly?’ Rosie asked.

‘I was on my way home to my mouse hole to have a lovely lunch of pain au chocolat when I saw a horrid hedgehog stealing them all from my garden. You see, I have some pain au chocolat trees, and they were just ripe enough to eat.’

‘Oh no!’ Rosie and Sam both said together. ‘Stealing pain au chocolat is not a very nice thing to do!’

‘No, it isn’t!’ Molly agreed. ‘And now I don’t have anything to eat for lunch!’

Rosie smiled and said to Molly ‘Don’t be sad. What if we helped you get your pain au chocolat back?’

‘You would do that?’ said Molly, who felt a lot happier already.

‘Of course!’ Sam replied. ‘We’ve been looking for something fun to do this afternoon, and what is more fun than helping people?’

‘Thank you. That is very kind of you both!’ Molly said.

‘Let’s go have an adventure!’ Rosie said.

As they were leaving the garden Molly crawled up to sit on Sam’s shoulder.

‘I saw the hedgehog going towards Highgate Wood. Maybe we can find him in there?’ she said.

So they set off in the direction of Highgate Wood. Once they got into the wood they started to look around for a hedgehog with some pain au chocolat.

‘Hedgehog!’ the three took turns calling. ‘Hedgehog, are you there?’

After a few moments they heard a rustling in some leaves and a hedgehog poked its head out.

‘Hello?’ he said. ‘I am a hedgehog.’

‘Did you take some pain au chocolat from a tree a little while ago?’ Rosie asked.

‘No,’ the hedgehog replied. ‘I don’t like pain au chocolat. Sorry.’

‘That’s OK!’ Sam replied, and the hedgehog disappeared back into the leaves.

So they moved on further into the wood. They looked around for other hedgehogs, and again took turns calling out ‘Hedgehog! Hedgehog, are you there?’

After another couple of moments a second, much smaller hedgehog popped up from behind a log.

‘Is everything OK?’ the hedgehog asked.

‘Did you take some pain au