Free Missing Person by Mary Jane Staples Page A

come and join us.’
    ‘Oh, don’t you want to have men’s talk?’ asked Rosie.
    ‘We’d like some young lady’s talk as well,’ said Boots, ‘as long as there’s no charge.’
    ‘Oh, I never charge for talking,’ said Rosie, and sped back into the house.
    Boots and Mr Finch poured their ale and drank thirstily, counting themselves as deserving cases after their gardening stint. They chatted in the easy way of men always completely at home in each other’s company. Rosie rejoined them, a glass of fizzy lemonade in her hand. She sat down, a lithe girl of natural grace. Boots observed her, the fun girl of his life. She had always been that. He wondered how long it would be before he lost her by reason of marriage. Rosie would never be less than very special.
    ‘You’ve something on your mind, Rosie?’ said Mr Finch, noting her thoughtful expression.
    ‘Yes, I’m afraid so, Grandpa,’ said Rosie.
    ‘Something serious?’ said Mr Finch, who had not forgotten Sunday’s strange phone call.
    ‘Well, yes,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s a message from Nana. She said if both of you don’t give your disreputable gardening trousers to the dustmen, she’ll burn them. She said that never in all her born days has she seen more disgraceful trousers, except on ragged hooligans. She said they’d even look disgraceful on a scarecrow.’
    ‘Ah,’ said Mr Finch.
    ‘H’m,’ said Boots.
    ‘H’m won’t do you any good, Daddy,’ said Rosie, ‘you’ll have to think of something better than that. You too, Grandpa. I can’t go and tell Nana you just said “ah” and Daddy said “h’m”. She wants action, like both of you taking your trousers off this very minute and putting them in the dustbin.’
    ‘Tell her we’ve all got worries,’ said Boots.
    ‘No, that won’t work, either,’ said Rosie.
    ‘All right, kitten,’ said Boots, ‘try telling her that your Grandpa and I are working on it.’
    ‘Some hopes if you think she’ll swallow that,’ said Rosie. ‘She told me your gardening trousers are a shame and disgrace to the whole family, and the neighbours as well.’
    ‘There’s a problem,’ said Boots. ‘Not about putting our trousers into the dustbin, that’s easy enough. But what about the disgrace and shame to the family – and the neighbours – if the dustmen give them back?’
    Rosie shrieked with laughter. Then she jumped up and ran indoors.
    ‘There’ll be no quarter given, Boots, when Rosie delivers that message,’ said Mr Finch.
    ‘Well, get ready to field the brickbats,’ said Boots.
    ‘I’m fond of my relics,’ said Mr Finch.
    ‘I feel married to mine,’ said Boots, and refilled his glass. They sat waiting, and Rosie came out again after five minutes.
    ‘You’re both in real trouble now,’ she said, ‘Nana’s taken umbrage.’
    ‘Is she bringing it out here?’ asked Mr Finch.
    ‘No, she’s saving it up until you both go indoors,’ said Rosie, sitting down again. ‘She said you’re both disgraceful music hall comics, and then she asked Mummy what there was to laugh about. Mummy said she wasn’t laughing, she was having a fit about Nana being married to one of the comics and herself to the other. She said she and Nana just had to live with it, that it was the sort of cross lots of wives had to bear. Nana said just wait till I see the pair of them. Oh, lor’, Daddy, I think you and Grandpa are really going to catch it. You’ll be safest if you stay out here all night.’
    ‘Something has to be done,’ said Mr Finch.
    ‘Right, you’re the patrol leader, Rosie,’ said Boots. ‘Sneak up to our rooms, get hold of a fairly decent pair of trousers for each of us, then sneak back here with them.’
    ‘Got you, Daddy,’ said Rosie, and away she went. She reappeared from around the side of the house after a while, carrying two pairs of trousers. Boots and Mr Finch retired to the shed, took off their relics and put on the presentable replacements. They came out and gave