Alpha and Omega: Beginnings and Endings - and some of the middle bits, too

By L. Peter Jones

Because, from time to time, St Peter liked to go fishing, he needed to entrust his sacred duties at the Pearly Gates to an utterly respectable soul, one which was well-meaning and kind, trust-worthy and unusually wise. So, he selected with the utmost care!
Mrs. Jones of North Wales was just such a worthy.

A somewhat bewildered, but righteously proud, and not too tightly permed, white-haired old lady, would answer the call from her small, neat flat in the North Wales enclave of Paradise.

Her only condition, and it was ‘non-negotiable,’ was that this new job would not interfere with the eternity of bliss with Stuart, her blast-furnace husband, as he didn’t like surprises, and wasn’t too keen on visitors either.

It was agreed that the ‘little chats’ with applicants, as Saint Peter put it, would take place while Stuart was out doing something vital and unfathomable with the car.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press UK
• Release date: Apr 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9781982288655

L. Peter Jones

Peter Jones grew up in North Wales, U.K., graduated at Sussex University with a BA and an MA in Northern European Renaissance Literature. His first work, Tisian Nerys, is in Welsh and second, in English, both written for children. Peter is currently a teacher and still enjoys it! Peter can get by in several languages.

Book preview

PRELUDE

Because, from time to time, St Peter liked to go fishing, he needed to entrust his sacred duties at the Pearly Gates to an utterly respectable soul, one which was well-meaning and kind, trust-worthy and unusually wise. So, he selected with the utmost care!

Mrs. Jones of North Wales was just such a worthy.

A somewhat bewildered, but righteously proud, and not too tightly permed, white-haired old lady, would answer the call from her small, neat flat in the North Wales enclave of Paradise.

Her only condition, and it was ‘non-negotiable,’ was that this new job would not interfere with the eternity of bliss with Stuart, her blast-furnace husband, as he didn’t like surprises, and wasn’t too keen on visitors either.

It was agreed that the ‘little chats’ with applicants, as Saint Peter put it, would take place while Stuart was out doing something vital and unfathomable with the car.

ONE

When the doorbell finally went for the first time in her new capacity, Mrs Jones of North Wales was absolutely ready! She immediately put aside her sewing, carefully interlacing the needle into the trousers she was letting out, as loose needles on the floor were hard to see and a bugger for feet and slippers alike.

Hair patted, and pinny removed, Mrs Jones opened the door with an unlipsticked smile.

In front of her was a smallish man, balding, she noticed, like her brothers and unlike Stuart. He was bent slightly, but, for his age, quite fit looking and tanned. There was also a hint of turpentine about him. Her first impression was that he was gardener. Stuart liked the garden, or used to before his back went, and had been forever outside painting the blessed shed with creosote or some such to keep it from rotting.

Oh! Come in in! she entreated. He shuffled passed her, somewhat bemused himself.

Would you like a cup of tea?

The man looked at her earnestly, thinking all the while he was probably in the Other Place and asked, not too politely, if there was anything stronger than ‘tea’.

Mrs Jones instantly redirected her nose from gardens to pubs, somewhere thankfully neither Stuart nor her boys had overly frequented.

Er… no! she stated, emphatically and, not forgetting her manners, led him into the front room, full of light, a sensible hard-wearing carpet and plastic plants easy to sponge clean. Her honoured guest was not allowed to sit on Stuart’s chair, but offered the sofa instead.

The man seemed to relax.

I’m Mrs. Jones, she said, proffering a smile.

I’m Pic-ass, he replied, smirking. The final ‘o’ sound was lost on Mrs Jones as she concentrated on the first two syllables, which had obliterated the final one.

Her eyebrows arched. Her head turned to offer her good ear. Excuse me?

He tried again. But again, the final syllable disappeared into the ugly hole dug by the first two.

Mrs Jones was left