Fish Frolic

(Chapter One)

Perhaps if his name had been more exotic, Bert Merryweather mused, he might have become a pop star, or at least something more exciting than a village bobby.

From his vantage point in the garden of the police house that stood on the higher ground at the top end of the little hamlet of Wych Wycombe he watched the last of the children scampering out of the schoolyard and down the street. He sighed. It wasn’t such a bad job really. He was more or less his own boss. Only extreme torture would make him admit to anyone that he rather enjoyed wearing the uniform because it made him feel important.

His attention wandered to the neat little patch of greenery that surrounded the grey pebble-dashed house. He’d never had a garden before. They weren’t very common in the poorer parts of Birmingham where he’d been brought up. Even window boxes were a rarity. Having the garden and all the fresh air was one of the best bits of living in Wych Wycombe. It almost made up for the complete lack of anything, which might be called action.

He glanced down the village again before turning to go back into the house to get his tea. All the children had disappeared, and the young headmaster and his assistant were just coming out of the building and into the schoolyard. A bit of all right, Angela Lewis was, Bert thought. But she wasn’t really his cup of tea. He fancied someone who was a bit earthier who wouldn’t expect him to go to the theatre instead of the pub. He went into the small hall and nudged the door shut.

* * * *

Down at the schoolhouse, the heavy iron key groaned in the lock as Andy Cooper turned it. “See you tomorrow, then,” he said cheerily to Angela.

She grinned and waved as she got into her ancient Mini. By the time Andy had extracted the key from the keyhole and dropped it into his pocket, she had zoomed out of the schoolyard and was on her way home.

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