Free Widows & Orphans by Michael Arditti Page B

broadcast their presence in the town.’
    ‘Nonsense, darling,’ Adele said crisply. ‘Now that the carpet factory has been shut down, the sea is perfectly safe.’
    ‘But the web has hit more than advertising. The management consultants I brought in –’
    ‘I don’t suppose they came cheap,’ Alison said.
    ‘No, but highly recommended. They told me that local newspapers were of no interest to the young. “That’s not such a problem here,” I said, “Francombe has an ageing population.” “By young,” one replied, “we mean anyone under sixty.”’
    ‘That’s young to me,’ Adele said.
    ‘So did these highly paid consultants come up with any solutions?’ Alison asked.
    ‘Nothing that I hadn’t already considered and discounted.’
    ‘Such as?’
    ‘Selling out to one of the conglomerates. Along with ninety-five per cent of the local press. Becoming a four-page insert in a generic paper produced in Ipswich or Basingstoke. Turning back the clock to when great-grandfather bought syndicated stories from London
off the shelf
.’
    ‘But would it solve the problem?’ Adele asked. ‘Would they pay?’
    ‘They’d pay something. The title has value, as does the building, although as I said they’d switch production elsewhere. I can’t see them keeping on any of the staff except maybe Brian. When you tot it up, there’s almost a hundred and fifty years of loyalty in that office. I can’t just chuck it away.’
    ‘They’d be given decent settlements, surely?’ Alison said.
    ‘That depends on the deal. One thing I know for certain is that I’d be first for the scrapheap.’
    ‘Nonsense,’ Adele said. ‘You do a marvellous job. Everyone says so. Regional Editor of the Year.’
    ‘In 1994, Mother. The only award we’ve had since then was second prize in the “Britain in Bloom” Business Category last summer.’
    ‘Maybe it’d be for the best if we did sell up,’ Alison said gently. ‘Especially for you, Duncan. While there’s still time for you to try something else.’
    ‘It’s not just the staff I’d be letting down. What about them?’ Duncan asked, pointing at the portraits. ‘How can I walk away from everything they achieved?’
    ‘They’re dead! Besides, what do you think will happen after you’re gone? I can’t see Jamie sacrificing himself to save the paper – always supposing there’s still a paper to save. And would you want him to waste his life the way you’ve done?’
    ‘Waste my life?’
    ‘I didn’t mean that. You know what I mean. You were a talented kid; you wanted to write. I still remember that sketch show in Cambridge. Instead, you chose to moulder in this two-bit town.’
    ‘You can be very hurtful sometimes,’ Adele said. ‘Francombe dates back to before the Conquest. It’s twinned with Cadiz.’
    ‘What choice did I have? Do you think I wanted to abandon my friends and my studies and my hopes and ambitions and practically everything else that makes life meaningful at twenty-one … no, not just at twenty-one, but for ever? If I hadn’t come back and sorted out Father’s mess, the paper would have gone under. Your shares would have been worthless. I’d have managed; I’d have got a grant to finish my degree and then, who knows, maybe a traineeship with the BBC? But what about you and Mother? What would you have done?’
    ‘If you want to play the martyr, that’s your affair, but please leave me out of it. I never asked you for anything.’
    ‘It was spring 1986. Ring any bells? You were training for Wimbledon. I was so proud of you; we all were. I was determined to make sure you’d have nothing else on your mind.’
    ‘That was very kind of you. And I’m sorry if I didn’t appreciate it. But as you’ll remember, my own career didn’t go exactly to plan. Besides, it was nearly thirty years ago. What does it have to do with what’s happening now?’
    ‘Not once in all that time have you offered to give up – or even reduce – your