Family Business

By Adrienne Nash

Ben, 15, was difficult, withdrawn and liable to sulk and with the years had become ever more unhappy. His sister Jessica, 18, had become mother to him after their mother died of cancer, and Dad was most of his time in London running his import export business. Tom, 25, their brother has been a forever student and wants a last fling, skiing the winter in Canada, but as a fresh tragedy strikes all plans go awry. It seems someone wants them all dead, but who?

Ben’s psychological problem comes to the fore and Jessica, old beyond her years deals with that and the threats to both their lives as they hide out in the less populated areas of Scotland. At last Ben feels able to confide in his sister. The COVID-19 pandemic interferes with life just as Ben has found himself and new friends but Jessica manages him and manages to keep them safe to find new lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Dec 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398488915

Adrienne Nash

I was born male, five days after the outbreak of WW2, September 1939. I suffered a difficult childhood, brought up in a village on the North Downs, the chalk uplands that form a line of hills from Dover to Farnham in Surrey. My village lay due south of the City of London at around 166 metres’ elevation, not high by any standard but high enough to be cool in summer and cold in winter. It was high enough, too, for German bombers to fly over at low elevation and high enough for the later V2 ‘doodlebug’ to cross at perhaps just a couple of hundred feet. One passed by my bedroom window at roof height, awakening and terrorising five-year-old me, and obliterated a house converted to flats a mile away, killing 18 innocents. Another blew up in the field opposite, breaking the house windows and shattering tiled roofs. It was not the only war that made life difficult, but a general unhappiness. I wasn’t understood, nor did I understand the world about me. On my first day at school, I wanted to play with the girls but was told to play with the boys. Returning home, I asked Mum why I was not dressed in a gymslip like the others. It was only then I discovered I was a boy. I attended boarding school in Cambridge and then in puberty lost my way as gender dysphoria, unrecognised then—although of course it existed—became an obsession. The vague feelings of dissatisfaction with my life as a boy had become an unbearable preoccupation, and my schoolwork suffered. Once popular at school, I became a loner and would take myself off to hide in a dry ditch, cry, smoke, and burn myself. I attempted to change gender but at that time, the late 1950s, there was no help or hope of that. At 18, I joined a bank, Bank of West Africa that no longer exists, and volunteered to work in West Africa. After minimal training at the head office in the City of London, I was sent at just 21 years old to Sierra Leone, thus avoiding National Service in the RAF. I worked two 18-month tours but a total time of three years and three months in Sierra Leone, suffering dengue fever, septicaemia, and a witch doctor’s curse. Thereafter I first worked as a bar manager, then for an American food company and then the Civil Service. I transitioned to become Adrienne finally in 1977. In 2002, I co-wrote with Brian Watts, sadly deceased, a book, ‘Wide Skies’, a history of the Norfolk and Norwich Art Circle, to which Sir John Arnesby Brown, Sir Alfred Munnings and Edward Seago belonged, all eminent artists of their time, now deceased. The Circle continues to flourish. At 70 years old, I began writing in earnest, at first publishing on Amazon, having received several rejections from agents and publishers. I am now 83 years old and still tapping the keys. I was an ardent windsurfer and skier but now play lawn bowls. I live alone with my cat, Milly, in Norfolk. I am as reasonably happy as I deserve to be. Novels by Adrienne Nash The Quartet. “Trudi”; ~ “Trudi in Paris”; ~ “Trudi and Simon”; ~ “Trudi without Simon”. “Breakdown”. “Long Journey into Light”. “Castle Murkie”. “The Trials of Sienna Chambers”. “The Cellar”; ~ and sequel, ~ “A Time to be Brave”. “The Mouse Wife”. “A Strange Life”. (Autobiography of the Author) “Tina G.” “To Love and Love Not.” “Coming Out”. “From the Ashes” “Suddenly this Summer” the sequel “Prejudice and Sensitivities”. “Holly” “Lost in the Snow” “Owning Lili” “Loyalty” “The Passing of Little Tough Guy” “Deliverance” “Sasha” “The House of Lies and Secrets” Social History. “Wide Skies” by Adrienne May and Brian Watts.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I had washed, dressed and descended without enthusiasm. It was a slow Sunday, in October, another dull day not unusual in Scotland, my nation, a country of outstanding beauty but let down by its proximity to the North Atlantic Ocean, that throws storm after storm upon our shores. That morning we were bathed in a thick drizzle, something that we also frequently endure, a windless day, dark grey cloud, a day we have a name for in Scots, dreich. That word even sounds like the weather, dull and sometimes moist if not drenching.

I too was dreich. I had risen in a black mood. Yesterday my father had departed for London after a furious row with my brother Tom who is ten years older and almost a stranger to me. Dad also had a go at me, after he had dealt with Tom, I was bloody feeble, he said, and it was time I did less fucking reading and more sport. He and I hardly spoke, I depended on my sister Jess for everything.

Dad has always been remote, mostly working away in London while Mum and her three children remained in Scotland. But it was Tom’s fault that Dad was furious, because Tom had made plans to ski Canada and Dad said it was time he started work and started to learn the business.

I was collateral in Dad’s foul mood, I had heard in their row that Dad needed him in the office, he wanted a lieutenant he could rely on. I gathered that all was not well, stood on the second step of the stairs opposite the study door listening.

My eaves dropping was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs, and my big sister Jessica descending with arms full of laundry. I quickly made my way into the kitchen and held the door for Jess following.

Later Dad departed for London and I think we all breathed a sigh of relief, he had been in a hideous mood over the Friday and Saturday.

Sunday, the same horrible weather. I had dressed slowly, without enthusiasm for the day ahead. I entered the kitchen gathering my hair into a high ponytail and fixing with an elastic band. I had left my bed reluctantly, only because if I hadn’t, Jessica would have nagged and been annoyed with me and I loved my Sis, she is proxy Mum and we are very close.

I am without hope, in despair with a secret I cannot tell for fear of losing the one person who loves me. Jess and I have always been close. Four years older, she has always been like a second Mum and I have not been an easy boy to raise.

I found Jessica, nearly nineteen, and my brother Tom, twenty-five years old. Tom was on the phone. It was a rare event to have my brother home. Since leaving uni he had appeared to be always travelling and stayed with us usually for a few days in between trips. Friday evening, after the rumpus he had sat in a sulk, then cleared off out in his car. He had returned by taxi Jess told me, the worse for wear, leaving his car in a carpark. Tom had been bad-tempered all yesterday, after Dad had departed by car for London.

I didn’t speak. I was aware Jessica was studying me. That merely increased my black mood. I sat disconsolately, eyes watery, with an involuntary frown and I bit my lip. I filled my plate with flakes, too many and stared at them, not able to decide what to do. Jess ever observant, took my bowl and poured half the flakes back into the packet. She placed the plate down on the table gently, and patted my head. Then she gripped the ponytail and moved the band down nearer my neck. When I stared up at her, she put a finger to her lips.

I love Jess, it has mainly been just Jess and me.

I drew the milk jug to me and poured as though that required extreme concentration.

‘Hello,’ Jessica said quietly across the table, ‘not talking today?’

‘Hi,’ I replied. ‘Sorry, I’m not fully awake,’ I said, excusing my rudeness. I was fully awake, I just wished I wasn’t. Today I just didn’t feel strong enough to be politely pleasant. I tried to rally, to find the strength to smile. The last person I would have ever wished to hurt was my sister Jessica who was also my Mum since our Mum died of cancer over two years ago. I dropped a flake down my front, picked it from my sweatshirt and put it carefully on the side of my plate.

‘Are you in a bad mood today, Benny?’ Jess asked.

I clenched my eyes shut and a tear escaped and trickled down my cheek.

‘OK,’ she said, ‘we’ll talk later.’ Her attention was on Tom and his phone call.

Tom put down the phone, slowly and deliberately and turned his ashen face towards us at the breakfast table.

‘What’s the matter?’ Jessica asked my brother, ‘Dad on your case again, not another speeding fine.’

‘No, you’re right, it’s Dad. Oh God, there’s no good way to tell you. That was de Soudeaux the company accountant. Ben, perhaps take your flakes into the lounge while I talk to Jess?’ Tom said.

‘No, if it’s about me, then I want to know.’

‘Yes, well no, it’s not about you specifically, it’s about us all, the family and our future, so perhaps…there’s no good way to break this news. You know de Soudeaux?’

‘Yeah we know who he is. Did you tell him Dad’s already in London?’ Jessica asked.

‘He knew, that’s the thing. De Soudeaux was woken by the police this morning. Last night Dad was run over in Lower Thames Street.’

‘Oh God no,’ Jess said. ‘Is he OK?’

Tom shook his head and drew a long breath. ‘He’s…he, Dad didn’t make it, he was killed, dead on arrival at hospital. The car hit him and then reversed over him.’

‘That means, they meant to kill him?’ Jessica said insightfully. ‘Oh my God.’

‘Why? What for?’ I almost screamed, my voice breaking with emotion and eyes filling.

‘The police think it was something to do with the business,’ Tom replied.

‘Who would do that?’ Jess asked. She came to me, put an arm around me and pulled me in, brushing the hair from my contorted face. Tears were in her eyes and in mine too, even though Dad and I hardly communicated. Through the watershed of my eyes, I saw Tom wipe a sleeve across his face. He took a deep breath and recovered control quickly. I drew a shuddering breath, Sis always reminded me of Mum, she used the same products, soap and moisturiser. She had been mother to me since Mum died.

‘Uncle Richard, our no-good uncle, might. Dad had sacked him, there were discrepancies de Soudeaux says. Uncle declared his ignorance but there seemed no other reason, de Soudeaux had brought Dad’s attention to fake entries in the sales ledger together with fake shipments and insurance claims. The police are looking for Richard now,’ Tom informed, ‘and they are also looking at the company’s deals with foreign companies.’

‘What are we going to do,’ I asked tearfully. ‘I always liked Uncle Richard; he wouldn’t,’ I proclaimed. Uncle was a fun person, younger than Dad in every way, he would do things for a dare and dared us too and he never nagged me or pointed out my deficiencies.

‘We all liked him, but why would he suddenly disappear when Dad is killed?’ Tom asked us.

‘Unless he’s dead too,’ I said.

Jess and I remained still, clasped together, shocked and mute. We both had tears, but we didn’t howl. Jess reached out and turned off the radio, and Tom scraped a chair on the tiled kitchen floor as he sat. We were all stunned, we three, orphaned. Tom recovered first.

‘Well, I’m head of the family now and also head of the business. That’s what Dad wanted because he told me in no uncertain terms yesterday. I expect you heard the rumpus. I said then, I wanted to go to Canada and ski the winter. He replied that I could but then I had to help manage the business, especially as Richard had left the company. In Canada I had arranged to work in a hotel, well that won’t happen. Somehow I have to get a grip of the company. I have to be here to look after you two as well.’

‘No you don’t Tom. I’m quite capable of looking after the house and estate and Ben too, I have been, while you have been sowing your wild oats and Dad’s been in London. We are OK aren’t we Benny?’

I nod. ‘Yes, we’re fine, we don’t need you,’ I said dully but firmly.

Tom gave me a look. I don’t think he yet believes I am a real person.

‘Well, OK, I will be just a phone call away. Dad told me that Richard was threatening court action after Dad sacked him last week but Dad said he didn’t stand a chance of getting a judgement against the company.’

I said miserably, ‘Mum died now Daddy, there’s a curse on this family, Uncle was nice. I can’t believe he did anything wrong. Dad could be so unfair.’

Jessica sat heavily sinking into the sofa that resided to one side of our enormous kitchen, dragging me down with her and holding me tight. Her eyes were brimming. As I began to cry, chest heaving, she squeezed me even more tightly. My body shook, not so much from grief as from shock.

‘I know Benny, I know, but tears won’t bring him back.’ She rocked me as she would a much younger child and wiped her own tearful eyes. ‘We need to be brave,’ she said, ‘I’ll look after you.’

‘Yes I know you will, I’m sorry to be such a wimp. That’s what Dad said yesterday, told me to man up.’

‘That’s because, oh well never mind. Just remember, he did love you,’ she said.

‘Did he?’ I asked. ‘Not like Mum did, I don’t think Dad loved anyone.’

‘Hush now Ben. I know Dad nagged you, you and he didn’t get on, but Dads are different, they always want a mini-me. That’s why sometimes he got mad with you,’ Jessica said.

‘I tried to be what he wanted, just can’t be.’

‘Why can’t you, couldn’t you?’ Tom asked.

‘Just couldn’t, can’t be what he wanted.’

‘None of us understand what goes on with you Benny. I wish you would tell us,’ Tom said.

‘I don’t know what goes on, I just know I’m unhappy, not with anyone, just inside I don’t feel right.’

‘Do you mean sick?’

‘No, I don’t mean sick, I don’t know what I mean, except I’m not proud to be me and Dad nagging me to do things just made life worse.’

‘What things?’

‘Play sport, not cry, not be a cry-baby. I can’t be what people want me to be, I have to be me.’

‘And what’s that?’ Tom asked, puzzled by me, his little brother.

There were eleven years between Tom and me, well almost. I think I had always been a puzzle to my family as much as a puzzle to myself. Luckily my brother had little influence. He only really knew of little brother, he didn’t know little brother. It was an impersonal relationship. Tom had been absent for most of my life.

‘I don’t know, just me. I still miss Mummy, now Dad,’ I said miserably.

‘I can’t be bothered with you just now,’ Tom said.

‘Hush Tom. Benny, I know, I miss her so too,’ Jess said, hugging my small frame. ‘You have me, I’m your older sister and your Mum all in one, I’ll look after you.’

‘Strange kid, that’s what you are little brother. Your age I was out playing football or on my bike, building that motorbike. You stay indoors, scribbling, don’t even play computer games.’

‘Yes Tom, that will do,’ Jess said sharply, her arm around me, her voice strong. ‘Look we’re in shock, Dad’s dead. What are we going to do?’

‘I will have to go to London. Can you look after Ben, stay here and see he goes to school?’

‘Yes of course Tom, that’s not different, Dad’s not been here most of the time nor have you, it has been Ben and me ever since Mum got sick. Benny and I will be OK, won’t we Ben?’

‘It won’t be any different. We have been here alone mostly for more than the last two years. Dad wasn’t bothered about me anyway and you haven’t been here either Tom, so don’t get bossy with me.’

‘Hush Ben don’t start a war. Look Dad was a bit remote, we all know that, we live in Stirling, he was mostly in London. Tom, we’ll be OK so don’t worry. When are you going to London?’ Jess was truly her mother’s daughter.

‘I’ll go down today. You’ll have to run me to the Stags Head, where I left my car and I’ll have to let you know when I’m coming back. There’s a funeral to arrange, I don’t know how to and the company, I don’t know what’s going on,’ Tom said. ‘Somehow, I have to get to grips with a business I know nothing about, not even Uncle Richard to help me. I only met de Soudeaux once, a slimy sort of fellow, all shooting linen and smarmed down hair. French I think.’

‘Well, being French does not make him bad Tom,’ Jess said, always fair minded.

‘No, of course not, just another sort of barrier. Maybe he’s OK, anyway at least he’s still there with his finger on the pulse. He’s valuable because he speaks four languages but I didn’t take to him, Dad said he was useful, that was all.’

‘Oh I see. It hardly seems an ideal situation then. Our solicitors will be able to advise on the funeral, won’t they? I’ll hold the fort here. The funeral will be here Tom, he will be beside Mum. Three years ago we were just a happy family, now we are parentless. Don’t let us down Tom, and drive carefully.’

I left the kitchen for the bathroom and as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard the rumble of Tom’s voice and my name. I walked back a few paces and listened and heard Tom say, ‘Yeah but fuck, the kid’s such a bloody girl. I wish he’d grow up. Tears, clinging to you, hardly speaks to me. Dad said he was so disappointed, and his school work has deteriorated too, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes, I don’t know but I wonder if he’s gay. He’s not popular, doesn’t mix, a loaner. I’m quite frightened for him.’

‘So fucking girlie.’

‘Yes, but I’m a girl Tom and I don’t like you speaking about girls like that, effing girlie, it’s offensive.’

‘I didn’t mean…’

‘Maybe you didn’t. Anyway watch your mouth and he has the ears of a hare.’

‘Is he still dressing in your stuff?’ Tom asked.

‘He’s interested in my girlie things, loves the feel of materials, he’ll pick up bottles and look at them. He was deeply affected by Mum’s death, I don’t think he is anywhere near getting over that, he spent hours with her, reading, cuddling.’

I stood silently in the hallway hearing all, none of it made me feel any better, but perhaps Jessica, still loved me. I climbed the stairs, blinked away my tears. I used the toilet, washed my hands and cupped water onto my face and dried. I sat on the closed loo seat and sobbed again until I was cried out. When I had no more tears, I rinsed my face again, dried, brushed my hair and went to my room. I stayed in my bedroom doing nothing. I had no enthusiasm to do anything. After an hour I heard Tom in his room and I went down to help cook.

‘You OK?’ Jessica asked.

‘Yeah,’ I said and my eyes were moist again.

Jess pulled me in, squeezed. ‘You heard, didn’t you?’ She asked.

‘Yes and no, I’m not gay. I hate bloody boys,’ I said, ‘I hate him.’

‘I don’t think you really do,’ Jessica replied, ‘he doesn’t understand you, but then none of us do. You can tell me anything Benny and I will try to help, you know that, and if you want, it will be our secret. I didn’t tell Tom about you being in mum’s things.’

I blush. ‘Well, I hope that’s our secret,’ I said, my heart almost stopped and then seemed to beat harder.

I clung to Jess, as a shipwrecked sailor would to a rock and she was my rock. I imagined a rock set in an oily cold sea, and me clinging to it, cold, shivering and alone, only a faint glimmer of hope remaining, the waves trying to tear me from it, my fingernails ripping. My dreary life was like the weather.

Chapter 2

We watched Tom depart in the Jaguar F, the car was his reward for gaining his Masters in maths and physics, then we two, the remnants of a family, turned and went back indoors hand in hand.

‘Am I going to school tomorrow?’ I asked Jessica.

‘No, well I don’t know. Perhaps you would be better at school, it would take your mind off Dad’s death, do you think Benny?’ Jess asked.

‘Yeah, OK, perhaps.’ I would rather have been with her but I didn’t want to be a wimp.

‘Well, you don’t have to Ben. I can phone, explain.’

‘Maybe I would be better there than moping here,’ I replied.

‘Well then. Is your homework all done?’

‘Of course. You looked at it Jess,’ I replied.

Sis studied me. ‘Ben, what are we going to do with your hair? Do you think we should get it cut, make you look more boy?’

‘That’s what Dad said, now you. Why don’t you all leave me alone?’ I said angrily.

‘We say it Ben because you complain of being bullied.’

‘I know but why should I give in. No.’

‘Ben? Just like that, no discussion. Why?’

‘It’s my right.’

Jessica stared back at me. She shrugged. ‘OK, we’ll just get rid of the split ends. I’ll meet you after school and get them trimmed.’

‘Yeah but no tricks Jess when you get me in that chair,’ I replied and then my face crumpled again.

‘Ben,’ Jess said, clasping me to her, ‘I know we are having a shit life at the moment but we have each other.’

‘I want my Mum. Now Daddy’s dead, then you nagging me. I hate my life.’

‘I know and I’m not nagging, just, Benny, I don’t want you bullied. I don’t know why your hair is so important to you.’

‘It just is. Why is it only girls who can have beautiful hair? What if someone told you to have all yours cut off.’

‘I can’t argue against that, it’s just convention, boys have short hair, most boys, I don’t know why, perhaps because boys don’t groom like girls, or perhaps mothers leave boys to care for themselves.’

‘Yes but King Charles, and James and those, they all had long hair. Anyway, I do look after my hair.’

‘I know you do, using my products.’

‘Can’t we say our products?’

‘Yes we can, I don’t mind.’

‘So then, why nag me Sis?’

‘OK, I won’t again, but we ought to get a good cut. Anyway, I think if you research those kings and rich people, they had wigs, poor people had short hair because of fleas and lice, aristocrats too, They could wash wigs, get rid of the bugs, they didn’t have special shampoos and such.’ She giggled. ‘You do have lovely hair, dark blond, shining. I’ll meet you after school tomorrow and we’ll go to a hairdresser and get it cut properly.’

‘Just the ends though,’ I said, laying down my conditions anxiously.

‘Yes, just the ends Benny. It will be a new experience for you, have a proper cut in a salon. Good thing I was taking a year out before Uni, I can look after you.’

‘I’m sorry I’m a nuisance.’

‘Hey, you are not difficult or a nuisance, different yes, but then anyone should feel free to be different. You are OK to go to school?’

‘Yes Sis. I mean, it will still be the same there or here, the same grief.’

‘OK, then,’ Jess said doubtfully, ‘if you’re sure.’

Sunday evening we sat cuddled on the settee and watched two films, both rotten.

Next morning as I ate the porridge Sis had made, she reminded me.

‘I’ll pick you up at the school gate at three-thirty. OK? Be there or I shall worry. And your fingernails, a little bit long, or are you growing them too? Would you like my nail varnish?’

‘Don’t start. I’ll file them,’ I said sharply.

‘Yes, well I think you should.’

‘Yes OK. Sorry Jess, I’m not in the mood to be teased.’

‘No, well I can understand that Benny darling. Give me a squeeze. Just remember I love you, I’m here for you. We’ve always been close haven’t we?’

‘Yes Jess. I’m sorry too, I don’t mean to be difficult or a wimp. Sis, do you think we’re in danger? There seems to be a curse on us.’

‘I don’t believe in curses or fate, nor should you. There’s a reason. Mum had cancer, Dad, well we don’t know yet what happened. All the same, we need to be careful and I shall worry if you are not at the gate at three-thirty. Don’t move from there, no matter what.’

‘I’ll be there.’ And of course I would be, I’d do anything for my dear sister Jessica.

Chapter 3

I watched as the taxi made its way up our long drive to stop outside our home, Mordor Hall. I went to school by taxi because I was without the two miles from school and school buses don’t pass nearby. The taxi also picked up three other children from local farms.

At one time the Hall was the home of a minor laird, the owner of a tannery that became bankrupt in the Great Depression. The old laird’s house has a round tower at each side of the central doorway, each crowned by a conical roof. The estate used to be around two thousand acres but when Dad purchased it, it was down to one hundred, all pasture and divided into seven paddocks by white painted fences. The land had sold easily and Dad had bought the derelict house and remaining land at a fraction of its former value. Prior to us, a used car parts dealer had owned the place and the ground floor contained all sorts of oily bits and pieces and the family lived on the first floor. The yard was full of engines and gearboxes, doors, the heavier car parts, even whole axles. Dad had to get in a contractor to remove all that. And another contractor to replace floorboards and decorate.

We had moved six years ago to this large old hall built in the French style like so many Scottish great houses, after Dad’s business struck it rich after years of lean times. It had been Mum and Dad’s intention for Mum to run a riding school. That had always been Mum’s ambition, but when Mum became ill with cancer, the riding business was sold and although it still operated from our grounds, it paid us rent. So there were still horses in the paddocks and what could be nicer. I rode, and helped muck out to pay for riding. I loved to be in my jodhpurs and boots. I tied my hair back with a black ribbon. The paying public sometimes thought I was a stable girl and then I heard Katrina the owner, whisper, ‘He, he’s the landlord’s son, a bit challenged I think.’

That made me blush and I hurried away, picked up a pail and filled with water, trying to look as boy as possible.

We also had a couple of small fields used by a roving shepherd, a girl who rented a few different fields and had over a hundred and fifty in lamb ewes. Before I was much older, I wanted to help with lambing, I’d seen it on TV and I would love to do that. I love all those farming programmes like ‘Our Yorkshire Farm’ and there are two or three others, a sudden glut of them and also the vet programmes, delivering a calf or a lamb, or treating cats or dogs. It’s funny really, the most domesticated animals, cats and dogs can be the trickiest to treat. I remember me and Mum taking our cat Mitzy, an Abyssinian to the vet, and she bit him and actually drew blood and the wound went septic, yet usually she was so friendly.

Dad had also meant to bring the London office to the house, two smaller reception rooms were made office space ready for the move but for various reasons that had been delayed.

My family just thought I was a kid, that I had no idea of what went on and I took it all for granted, but I didn’t. I listened, I listened at doors, I watched TV and heard things, about the business, about the rows between Dad and my big brother, about him being a spoiled rich kid and it being time for him to start giving back. Tom had pleaded to have one last winter of fun working and skiing in Canada and Dad had reluctantly agreed. Well, cometh the time, cometh the man, it was time for Tom to step up and I thought he had accepted the challenge.

I heard Dad’s criticisms of me too. I heard him tell Jess not to baby me. He described me as fey, a word I had to look up that has a variety of meanings, none that really seemed complimentary, like fanciful, irrational and capricious, that are hardly compliments. I looked up capricious. People use words and often hardly know what they mean. Again not a compliment, whimsical, fickle, wayward, unreliable, that last being probably the worst verdict on me. They say you shouldn’t listen at doors, well sometimes you need to know who your friends are and you often don’t get the truth face to face. I wondered whether humans ever told each other the full unadulterated truth? Do we, for the sake of peace, or out of kindness or cowardice, or sometimes cruelty, seldom speak truth? I think that is actually a human failing, sometimes people need to hear the truth. Like recently, they say you shouldn’t call someone fat, not even obese, but if they are, surely, for their own good?

Like in the Times in the Comments where I write under my dad’s nom de plume, and often the comment is blocked because I said something was stupid or someone was insipid. Granny used to say, ‘speak the truth and shame the