25285838 English Literature Component Form 4-5-2010 Short Stories

8/8/2019 25285838 English Literature Component Form 4-5-2010 Short Stories

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SHORT STORIES

QWERTYUIOPVivien Alcock

Jobs don’t grow on trees, the principal of the BelmontSecretarial College was fond of saying.”Be positive,” Mrs Price told her departing students,as she shook them by the hand in turn. ”Go out intothe world and winl I have every confidence in you.”When she came to the last student, however, herconfidence suddenly evaporated. She looked at Lucy

Beck, and sighed.”Good luck, my dear,” she said kindly, but rather inthe tone of voice of someone wishing a snowman ahappy summer.Lucy Beck was young and small and mousecoloured,easily overlooked. She had a lonely ’O’ level and atyping speed that would make a tortoise laugh.”Whoever will want to employ me?” she had asked

Mrs Price once, and Mrs Price had been at a loss toanswer.Lucy wanted a job. More than anyone, more thananything, she wanted a job. She was tired of beingpoor. She was fed up with macaroni cheese andbaked beans. She was sick of second-hand clothes.”We are jumble sailors on the rough sea of life,” hermother would say.

Lucy loved her mother, but could not help wishingshe would sometimes lose her temper. Shout.Scream. Throw saucepans at the spinning, grinninghead of Uncle Bert.If I get a job, I’m getting out. He’s not drinking up



my pay packet, that’s for sure. If I get a job . . . Trouble was that there were hundreds after everyVJCUQ; brighter than Lucy, better qualified than Lucy,Wearing strings of ’O’ levels round their necks like

pearls.Who in their right minds will choose me? Lucywondered, setting off for her first interview.So she was astonished to be greeted by Mr Its of Ross and Bannister’s, with enormous enthusiasm.She was smiled at, shaken by the hand, given teaand biscuits, and told that her single ’O’ level wasthe very one they had been looking for. Then she

was cfed the job.”I hope you will be happy here,” Mr Ross ial, showingher out. There was a sudden doubt in his voice, a hintof anxiety behind his smile, but she was tpp excitedto notice.I’ve got the job! I’ve got the job!” she cried, runnnginto the kitchen at home. I’m to start on Monday. I’mto be paid on Friday.”

Her mother turned to share at her.“you never! Fancy that now!who’d have thought it!”she said in astonishment.Lucy was not offended by her mother’s surprise. Sheshared it. They never trusted luck, but looked t itsuspiciously as if at a stranger coming late to theirdoor.

Ross and Bannister’s was a small firm, with a factory just outside the town, making cushions and duvets;and an office in the High Street. On Monday morning,at ten to nine, the door to this office was shut andlocked.



She was early. She smoothed down her windy hair,and waited.At five past nine, an elderly man, with small darkeyes like currants and a thick icing of white hair,

came hobbling up the stairs. He was jingling a bunchof keys.”Ah,” he said, noticing Lucy. ”Punctuality is thecourtesy of kings, - but a hard necessity for newbrooms, eh? You are the new broom, I suppose? Notan impatient customer waiting to see our new rangeof Sunburst cushions, by any chance?””I’m Lucy Beck,” she said, adding proudly, ”the new

secretary.””Let’s hope you stay longer than the other ones,” theman said, and unlocked the door. ”Come in, come in,Miss Beck. Come into the parlour, said the spider tothe fly. I’m Harry Darke, thirty years with Ross andBannister’s, retired with a silver watch, and nowcome back to haunt the place. Can’t keep away, yousee.” Then he added oddly, half under his breath,

”Like someone else I could mention, but won’t.”He looked at Lucy, standing shy and awkward,clutching her bag and uncertain what to do. ”PoorMiss Beck, you musn’t mind old Harry. Part-timemessenger, office boy, tea-maker, mender of fuses.Anything you want, just ask old Harry. Mr Ross isdown at the factory in the morning, but he’s left youplenty of work to be getting on with.” He pointed to a

pile of tapes on the desk. ”Letters to be typed,those ;ire. He got behindhand, with the last girlleaving so quick. Left the same day she came. Shotoff like a scalded cat!”

”Why?” Lucy asked curiously.



”Hang your coat in the cupboard here,” he said,ignoring her question. ”Washroom along the passageto the right. Kitchenette to the left. We share it withLurke and Dare, House Agents, and Mark Tower,

Solicitor. No gossiping over the teapots, mind. Mostof the young li dngs go to Tom’s Cafe for lunch. Putthis sign on the door when you leave.” He handedher a cardboard notice on a looped string on whichwas printed: Gone For Lunch. Back At Two. ”Now isthere anything else you want to know before I slopeoff?””You’re going?” Lucy asked, surprised.

”Yes, my girl. I’ve errands to do. Not frightened of holding the fort on your own, are you?””No, but...””You can take a telephone message without gettingthe names muddled, can’t you?””Yes, of course.””Nothing else to it, is there? No need to look like afrightened mouse.”

“I’m not!”He looked at her for a long moment, with a strangeexpression on his face, almost as if he were sorry forher.”You’re very young,” he said at last.”I’m seventeen.””Don’t look it. Look as if you should be still at school.

This your first job?”

”Yes.”

He shook his head slowly, still regarding her with thatodd pity.



”It’s a shame,” he said; then, seeing her puzzledface, added briskly, ”Well, I’ll be off then. Mr. Rosswill be in this afternoon.”

Yet still he stood there, looking at her. Embarrassed,

Lucy turned away and took the cover off thetypewriter.”Just one last thing,” the old man said, ”that’s anelectric typewriter.””I’m used to electric typewriters,” Lucy said coldly.She was beginning to be annoyed.”Not this one. This one’s . . . different. You mustn’tworry,” he said gently, ”if it goes a little wrong now

and again. Just ignore it. Don’t bother to re-type theletters. Splash on the old correcting fluid. Look, I gotyou a big bottle. Liquid Paper, the things they invent!And if that runs out, cross out the mistakes with ablack pen - see, I’ve put one in your tray. Nice andthick it is. That should keep her quiet.””I don’t make mistakes,” Lucy said; then honestycompelled her to add, ”well, not very many. I’ve

been trained. I’ve got a diploma.””Yes. Yes, my dear, so they all had,” he said sadly,and left.

After the first moments of strangeness, Lucy wasglad to be alone. No one breathing down her neck.She looked round the office with pleasure. Hers.

Sunlight streamed through the window. The curtainsshifted a little in the spring breeze. There was a smallblue and green rug on the floor.I’ll have daffodils in a blue vase, Lucy thought. I canafford flowers now. Or I will be able to, on Friday.



Better get on with the work. She sat down, switchedon the typewriter, inserted paper and carbons, andstarted the first tape.”Take a letter to Messrs. Black and Hawkins, 28,

Market Street, Cardington. Dear Sirs...” Mr Ross’svoice came clearly and slowly out of the tape deck.Lucy began to type.She was a touch-typist. She did not need to look atthe keys. Her fingers kept up their slow, steadyrhythm, while her eyes dreamed round the office, outof the window, down into the sunny street.”. . . our new line of Sunburst cushions in yellow,

orange and pink,” came Mr Ross’s voice. There was something odd! A sudden wrongness feltby her fingers, a tingling, an icy pricking...She snatched her fingers away and stared at thetypewriter. It hummed back at her innocently. Whatwas wrong? There was something . . . Her glance fellon the uncompleted letter.

Dear Sirs,I am pleased to inform you that QWERTYUIOP andBannister’s have introduced a new QWERTYUIOP of Sunburst cushions in QWERTYUIOP, orange andQWERTYUIOP ...

She stared at it in horrified bewilderment. What hadhappened? What had she done? Not even on her first

day at the Belmont Secretarial College had she madesuch ridiculous mistakes. Such strange mistakesQWERTYUIOP, the top line of letters on a typewriter,repeated over and over again! Thank God there hadbeen no one to notice. They’d think she had gonemad.



She must be more careful. Keep her mind on the job,not allow it to wander out of the window into thesunny shopping street below. Putting fresh paper intothe typewriter, she began again.

She was tempted to look at the keyboard . . . ”Don’tlook at the keys! Keep your eyes away!” Mrs Pricewas always saying. ”No peeping. You’ll never make agood typist if you can’t do it by touch. Rhythm, it’s allrhythm. Play it to music in your head.”So Lucy obediently looked away, and typed to a slowtune in her head, dum diddle dum dee, dum diddledum dee . . . Why did her fingers feel funny? Why

were goosepimples shivering her flesh? Was thetypewriter really humming in tune?She sat back, clasping her hands together, andstared at the letter in the machine. It read:

Dear Sirs, YOU ARE SITTING IN MY CHAIR to inform you that GOAWAY a new line of WE DO NOT WANT YOU HERE

cushions in yellow, SILLY CHIT rind pink.QWERTYUIOP.

She could not believe her eyes. She stared at theextraordinary words and trembled.”Let’s hope you stay longer than the other ones,” theold man had said.

Tears came into Lucy’s eyes. She tore the sheets out

of the typewriter and threw them into thewastepaper basket. Then she put in fresh paper andbegan again. Grimly, in defiance of Mrs Price’steaching, she kept her eyes fixed on the keyboard.



We are pleased to inform you that Ross andBannister’s have introduced a new line of Sunburstcushions ...

With a rattle the typewriter took over. She felt thekrys hitting her fingers from below, leaping up anddown like mad children at playtime. She took herhand away and watched.

. . . YOU CANT KEEP ME OUT THAT WAY, thetypewriter printed. YOU LL NEVER BE HID OF ME.NEVER. WHY DONT YOU GO. NO ( )NE WANTS YOU

HERE. NO ONE LIKES YOU. GO A WAY BEFORE

Then it stopped, its threat uncompleted.Lucy leaped up overturning her chair and ran to thedoor.”Left the same day she came,” the old man had said.”Shot off like a scalded cat!”

”No!” Lucy shouted.She left the door and went over to the window,looking down at the bright shops. She thought of

jumble sales and baked beans. She thought of prettynew clothes and rump steaks. She might be youngand shy and a little slow, but she was not, no, shewas not a coward!She went back and sat down in front of the

typewriter and glared at it. There it crouched, like asquat, ugly monster, staring at her with itsalphabetical eyes.Lucy typed quickly:Are you from outer space?



The typewriter rocked, as if with laughter, its keysclicking like badly fitting false teeth.IDIOT, it wrote.Who are you? Lucy typed.

MISS BROOME, it answered.Lucy hesitated. She did not know quite how to replyto this. In the end she typed:How do you do? I am Miss Beck.GO AWAY, MISS BECK Why should I?I AM SECRETARY HERE, it stated, this time in redletters.

No, you’re not! I am! Lucy typed angrily. The machine went mad.QUERTYUIOP!”/@QUERTYUIOP£~&0*QWERTYUIOP+I, it screamed, shaking andsnapping its keys like castanets.Lucy switched it off. She sat for a long time, staringin front of her, her face stubborn. Then she took thecap off the bottle of correcting fluid.

For an hour, she battled with the machine. As fast asQWERTYUIOPs and unwanted capitals appeared, sheattacked with a loaded brush. The white fluid randown the typing paper like melting ice-cream, anddripped thickly into the depths of the typewriter.

YOU’RE DROWNING ME, it complained pathetically,and she swiped at the words with her brush.HELP!

Another swipe.PLEASE!But Lucy showed no mercy. The large bottle was half-empty when she reached the end of the letter intriumph.

Yours faithfully, . George Ross,



she typed, and sat back with a sigh of relief. The machine began to rattle. Too late, Lucy snatchedthe completed letter out of the typewriter. Across thebottom of the otherwise faultless page, it now said in

large, red capitals:

I HATE YOU!Furiously she painted the words out.

Mr Ross came to the office at four o’clock. His eyeswent to the corner of the desk where Lucy had putthe completed letters. If he was surprised to find so

modest a number after a day’s work, he did not sayso, but picked them up.

”Any telephone messages?” he asked.”On your desk, sir,” Lucy said and went to make himtea.When she brought it in on a flowered metal tray, shefound Mr Ross signing the last letter, his pen skidding

awkwardly over the thick shiny layer of plastic paper.All the letters were heavily damasked with the driedfluid, like starched table napkins. He glanced up ather a little unhappily.”Did you have trouble with the machine, Miss Beck?”he asked.”Yes, sir.” (She was afraid to say what trouble in casehe thought she was mad.)

”It’s only just come back from being serviced,” hesaid wearily.”I’m sorry, sir. It keeps... going wrong.”

There was a long silence. Then he said with a sigh, ”Isee. Well, do what you can. If it’s no better at theend of the week...”



He let the sentence hang in the air, so that she wasnot certain whether it would be the typewriter orLucy Beck who would get the chop.

The next morning, Harry Darke raised his eyebrows

when he saw Lucy.”Still here?” he exclaimed. ”Well done, my dear. Inever thought I’d be seeing you again. You’re braverthan you look. Fighting back, eh?””Yes,” said Lucy briefly. She walked past him andwent up to the desk. Her desk. Then she took out of her carrier bag a small bunch of daffodils and a bluevase.

”Staking your claim, I see,” the old man said,regarding her with admiration. ”D’you want me to fillthat for you?”

”Thanks.”He came back, carrying a tray.”Thought I might as well make us tea while I wasabout it,” he said. ”Here’s your vase.”

”Thanks.””I’ll be here till one o’clock today,” he said, as shearranged her flowers. ”Anything you want to know?Any snags come up I can help you with? Light bulbschanged. Fuses mended. New bottles of correctingfluid handed out...””Mr Darke,” Lucy said, looking straight into his small,bright eyes, ”Who is Miss Broome?”

”Wrong question, Miss Beck.”Lucy thought for a moment, then said, ”Who wasMiss Broome?”

He beamed at her approvingly: ”You catch on quick,I’ll say that for you. In fact, you’re not the timid



mouse you look, Miss Beck. You’re a right little lion.Need to be, if you’re going to take on Miss Broome.

Tough old devil, she was.””Tell me about her,” Lucy said, as they sat over their

tea.

”She was old Mr Bannister’s secretary. Been hereforty-three years, girl, woman and old misery. Sittingthere where you’re sitting now, her back straight as aruler, and a chop-your-head-off ruler, too! Her stiff old fingers tapping out the letters one by one, withher nose nearly on the keyboard, so short-sighted

she’d become by then. None of your touch-typing forher! Every letter she stared in the face like it was acriminal and she the judge. You can’t wonder shehates you young girls, with your fingers flying overthe keys like white butterflies, and your eyes gazingout into the sunshine. They gave her the push, youknow.”

”After forty-three years?” Lucy said, shocked intosympathy.

”Well, she was past it, wasn’t she? Of course theywrapped it up in tissue paper. Gave her a brass clockand shook her hand and waved her goodbye. Shedidn’t want to go. Didn’t have anywhere worth goingto - a bedsit, a gas ring . . . The old bag didn’t have

any family who’d own her. This place was her home,this job was all she lived for.”

Lucy was silent. Her mother had turned Uncle Bertout once, after a row, shouting that she’d had



enough of him. Six weeks later, she had asked him tocome back.

”He looked so lonely, so lost,” she had told Lucy. ”All

by himself in that horrid little room, with the wornlino and the curtains all shrunk.”

”Sorry for her, are you?” Harry Darke asked,watching her face.

Lucy hardened her heart.

”It’s my job now,” she said. ”I need it. She can’t haveit for ever, it’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s my turn now.”

”So it’s a fight to the finish, is it, Miss Beck?” heasked, smiling.

”Yes,” she said, and unscrewed the cap from thebottle of correcting fluid.

Her mother was working late that night. Lucy, goinginto the kitchen to get her own supper, was surprisedto find the table neatly laid out with ham and salad,apple pie and a jug of tinned milk. Uncle Bert wassitting waiting for her, beaming proudly.

”Thought I’d have your supper ready,” he explained,

”now you’re a working girl.”

”Thanks,” she said, but couldn’t resist adding nastily,”I don’t get paid till Friday, you know. No good tryingto touch me for a fiver.”



He flushed. ”You don’t think much of me, do you?Who are you to set yourself up as judge and jury?

You don’t know what it’s like . . . not being wanted. Alittle kindness would help!”

Lucy noticed his hands were shaking. His collapsingface seemed held together in a scarlet net of brokenveins. His eyes were miserable.

”Uncle Bert...” she began.

”What?” He looked at her warily.

”I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Uncle Bert.”

”I’m sorry too, Lucy,” he said. ”I know it’s a nuisance,having me here.”

”No! No, it isn’t! We want you,” she said.

They smiled at each other timidly over the kitchentable, each remembering the little girl and thehandsome uncle, who had once flown kites togetherin Waterlow Park.

* * *

Wednesday was Harry Darke’s day off. Alone in the

office, Lucy put a sheet of paper in the typewriter,and typed quickly:

QWERTYUIOPQWERTYUIOPQWERTYUIOP. Thetypewriter gave a jerk, as if surprised, andhummed. Lucy typed:



Dear Miss Broome,’

Mr Darke told me you used to the secretary to Mr

Bannister...

I AM, interrupted the typewriter. Lucy went on,

I am sorry to nave to tell you that Mr Bannister [shehesitated, wondering how to put it,] . . . passed onthree years ago, at the age of eighty-six...

LIAR! I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!

It is true, Miss Broome. I have seen his grave in thecemetery. It is not far from yours. I went along lastnight and left you flowers ...

I did. Mr Darke is worried about Mr Bannister. Medoes not know how he will manage without you...

HE CAN MANAGE WITHOUT ME ALL RIGHT! said thetypewriter bitterly, HE TOLD ME TO GO. MRASSCLOCK, WHAT DID I WANT WITH BRASS (! LOCKS! IWANTED MY JOB.

They only asked you to go because they wereworried about your health. [Lucy typed quickly] Mr

Darke told me Mr Bannister was always i saying howmuch he missed you ... Truly. He said Mr Bannister complained none of thenew girls were any good. There was no one like you,he said ...



The typewriter was silent. Sunlight glittered on itskeys, so that they looked wet.

... He must miss you: He’s probably in n;n awful

muddle up there, mislaying his wings. Losing hisharp. He needs someone l,o look after him...

The machine was silent. Lucy waited, but it saidnothing more. So she typed:

Goodbye, Miss Broome. Best of luck in your new job,

Yours sincerely,Lucy Beck, Secretary.

She folded the finished letter into a paper dart andsent it sailing out of the window. The wind caught itand carried it away.

* * *

Mr Ross is delighted now with his new secretary.Harry Darke says she’s champion and gives herchocolate biscuits with her tea.

”However did you do it?” he asked.

The fruitcake Special

Frank Brennan

I never thought I would discover something quite soamazing by accident. I was a chemist at the AmosCosmetics factory in New Jersey, USA, trying todesign a new perfume when it happened.



I was trying out all the usual mix of flowers and*things -just like I always did - when I decided to throwin a piece of the fruitcake Momma had packed for my

lunch. I don’t know why I did it -1 just did.

I put it into the mix with all the other things. Beforelong, I had a little bottle of perfume made from thethings I had mixed together. I put some on the backof my hand. I thought it smelled nice, but there wasnothing special about it, so I put the bottle into myhandbag. I couldn’t give something like that to my

boss. After all, I am a chemist and my job is to makeperfumes in a proper way. If I told him how I madethis one he would tell me hot to be a silly girl. Later,he would probably make a joke about it to his friendsat the golf club.

That’s the kind of man my boss was.

”Anna!”

It was my boss, David Amos, the owner of AmosCosmetics. He happened to be walking past where Iworked. He never usually spoke to people like me.What did he want? I felt nervous.

”Yes, Mr Amos.” I said.

”You’re looking terrific today! Mmm . . . what’s thatlovely smell? It’s like fresh bread and flowers andsunshine all mixed together with ... I don’t know is ityou, Anna?”



I didn’t know what he was talking about. I couldn’tsmell anything special.

Mr Amos had an expert nose for perfumes. And he

knew it.

”Yes, it is you!” he said loudly. All the other chemistsnearby could hear. It was embarrassing.

I had never heard my boss speak to me like thatbefore. Or to anybody else, come to think of it. DavidAmos is a dark, handsome English guy who would

never dream of saying nice things to ordinary lookinggirls like me. He preferred to be with pretty young

models who liked his appearance and his money.When he did speak to the chemists he was usuallycomplaining about something. Was he playing somekind of joke today?

Suddenly he came over right next to me. He spoke ina quiet voice close to my ear.

”You know, Anna, I’ve never really noticed it before Ican’t think why - you really are a beautiful woman!”

”Mr Amos. !...”! tried to answer but I didn’t knowwhat to say.

”No, it’s true, Anna,” he said. ”I must see you outsidethis dull factory. Will you have dinner with metonight?”

”Well, !...”! was still too surprised to speak properly.



”That’s great! I’ll pick you up at your place tonight ateight. See you then,” he said.

He was gone before I could say anything.

As I went home on the bus I thought of the strangesituation I was in. My boss, who was famous for goingout with beautiful women, had told me I wasbeautiful and had asked me out! But I know I am justordinary looking and not his usual type at all. When Igot home my Momma was in the sitting room talking

to my Aunt Mimi.

Aunt Mimi. I like my Aunt Mimi, but she simply can’tmind her own business. She has wanted me to find ahusband for ages. She didn’t like the thought of mebeing single and having a career. She thought itwasn’t natural for a twenty-seven-year-old womanlike me not to be married. Aunt Mimi thought that

the least she could do for me was to find me ahusband. I was used to this by now, but it was stillembarrassing.

”Aunt Mimi - how nice to see you,” I said.

Aunt Mimi looked at me and smiled. ”Anna, my littlegirl. . . but look at you: you’re not a little girl any

more, you’re a twenty-three-year-old womanalready! How lime flies!”

”Actually, I’m twenty-seven, Aunt Mimi,” I said. Shealways got my age wrong.



”So soon? And you’re not married yet? Your motherwas married when she was eighteen. Eighteen! Andyou were born when she was nineteen!” Aunt Mimilooked sad as she said this.

She decided to say what she thought at once as shealways did.

”So when are you going to bring a nice boy home?’she asked, looking me right in the eye.

”There was that boy Armstrong you saw two years

ago. He was nice,” said Momma, trying to help me.

”Momma, Armstrong was the pizza delivery man,” Itried to explain, but Momma never did listen.

”Armstrong was here a few times. I liked him,” saidMomma.

”Momma,” I said, ”that was when the cooker brokedown - remember? We ate pizzas for almost a weekuntil it was fixed. Armstrong just delivered thepizzas.”

”I don’t care,” said Momma. ”I liked him - he had niceeyes.”

Aunt Mimi raised her eyes in surprise.

”You mean to say you let this Armstrong boy go?”said Aunt Mimi.



”But he was only the pizza delivery man,” I said,weakly.

”Then he was. By now he probably owns the

company!” said Aunt Mimi. ”And you let him go!Anna!”

It was no use arguing. I knew they were not going tolisten to me. So I changed the subject.

”That fruitcake was nice, Momma,” I said.

”Aunt Mimi brought it,” said Momma. ”But don’tchange the subject - your aunt has something to sayto you.”

Oh no! She’s trying to find a husband for me again!

Aunt Mimi began, ”I’ve found the perfect boy for you,Anna. Well . . . he’s not exactly young, but neither

are you any more . . . and he’s still got his ownhair...”

I decided I had to put a stop to this - I didn’t want tomeet Aunt Mimi’s ’boy’ even if he did have his ownhair.

”Thanks, Aunt Mimi,” I said. ”But I’m already seeing

someone tonight.”

I hadn’t meant to tell them but I had to do somethingto stop Aunt Mimi. It certainly surprised them. Theyboth looked at me with their eyes and mouths wideopen like a couple of fish.



”Yes,” I went on. ”I’m going out with my boss, MrAmos. He’s picking me up at eight.”

That certainly surprised them!

* * *

Momma and Aunt Mimi were very pleased, of course. They went off together to plan the wedding and leftme to get ready for the man they hoped would be myfuture husband. I was beginning to wish I hadn’t told

them.

After all, I had no idea why my boss had behavedtowards me in that way. He had never even noticedme before now. However, he had noticed theperfume I had been wearing. Lately I had beenwearing a perfume called Intrigue. It was made byanother company and I actually preferred it to the

perfumes we made. Mr Amos did have a very goodnose for perfumes. Perhaps Intrigue was so good he

just couldn’t stop himself. Who knows?

Anyway, I had to get ready for my evening out.Although I couldn’t explain why Mr Amos hadsuddenly found me attractive, I really wanted to findout. In my own way I’m as bad as Aunt Mimi, I guess.

The funny thing was, I don’t really like men like MrAmos. But I wanted to find out why he had changed.

So I put on my best black dress, lots and lots of Intrigue and my one pair of high-heeled shoes. Thehandbag I use for work is the only one I’ve got



because I don’t go out that often. I took it. Then Iheard the doorbell ring.

Momma and Aunt Mimi were at the front door before

I could move. They wanted to see my date. Both of them were trying to get me to hurry up. They had bigsmiles on their faces.

I opened the door.

”Hello, Anna.”

It was Mr Amos. He looked very handsome. However,he was quieter than before and was looking down atthe floor. I could hear Momma and Aunt Mimi behindme. I could tell they liked him. It was embarrassing.

”Hello, Mr Amos,” I said.

I was expecting him to say something friendly, like

”Call me David” or something. But he didn’t.

I managed to get him away from my Momma andAunt Mimi without too much trouble. I guess theythought we should be alone together if they had anyhope of hearing wedding bells in the future.

He hardly said anything in his car, either, apart from

polite conversation about how nice I looked. I couldtell he didn’t mean it. Men have a way of calling you’nice’ when they really mean they don’t care howyou look.



Anyway, he drove me to an expensive Frenchrestaurant where we spent some time having drinksand ordering food. All the conversation was of thepolite kind, but I could tell he was getting ready to

say something. Then he turned to me with a seriouslook on his face and spoke.

”Look Anna...” he began.

I knew it! He’d changed his mind and was trying tothink of some excuse to get out of our eveningtogether.

”... about today, at the factory,” he continued. ”Idon’t know why I behaved like that.”

”I thought it was because you found me attractive,Mr Amos. And because you liked my perfume,” I said,wondering why the Intrigue I was wearing didn’tseem to be having any effect on him. But it was

obvious he hadn’t been listening to me.

”You see, Anna,” he said, ”if we can see this as...as...”

”As what, Mr Amos?” I asked.

He suddenly put on a smile. ”As a reward for all your

hard work at the factory. After all, you are one of ourbest chemists. It’s the least I can do to show howmuch I value your efforts. Have this meal on me! I’llpay for it!”



If the meal had been there it would really have beenon him - I would have thrown it at him! So he hadchanged his mind and now wanted to get rid of me. Ididn’t believe for one moment that this meal was a

prize for being a good little chemist. I needed to beon my own to think what to do.

”Excuse me for a moment, Mr Amos,” I said, gettingup from my seat.

”Of course,” he answered looking less nervous thanbefore.

I went to the ladies’ room. I felt like breaking thefurniture or something. I was annoyed! I had mypride, after all! And why hadn’t my Intrigue worked?Perhaps I hadn’t put enough on, even for his expertnose. I decided to put a lot more on. Perhaps thatwould work. I looked in my handbag - it wasn’t there!All that I could find was that bottle with the fruitcake

in it that I had made at the factory. I didn’t care, I putit on. I used up half of the bottle. Then I went outsideagain.

As I was walking back to the table I almost ran intothe waiter who had served us. He stopped andlooked at me with a stupid look on his face. Then heremembered he had a job to do, walked on and

knocked down a table with some cakes on it.

When I finally reached the table, Mr Amos waslooking embarrassed, as if he didn’t want to be seenwith me. I could see he was trying to hide it but hecouldn’t. Suddenly a strange thing happened: he



opened his mouth, as if he was going to speak, thenstopped. He had smollod the perfume - the fruitcakespecial - that I was wearing, and the change thatcame over him was immediate. His look of

embarrassment just disappeared.

Instead, he looked like a dog who had just found abone; Ins eyes shone and he smiled until I thoughthis face would break in two. He stood up.

”At last you’re back - I missed you, Anna,” he said.”I’ve been in a terrible dream and I’ve just woken

up.”

”A dream, Mr Amos?” I asked. I didn’t understandwhat he was talking about.

”Call me David, darling...” he said. ’ Darling? Whatdid he mean? What was happening?

”Yes . . .”he continued. ”I dreamt that I was beingawful to you, treating you as if you were justsomeone who worked for me. The truth is that youmean so much more than that to me...”

I wondered what he meant. Was he going to raise mypay?

He went on. ”You must realise that I’m crazy aboutyou, darling.”

He was calling me darling again. He was beingserious.



I have to say that at this point I was feeling veryconfused. Five minutes ago my boss didn’t want tobe seen with me. Now he was saying he was crazyabout me! What could be making him behave like

this? Then, all at once, I realised: it was the fruitcakespecial! Intrigue might smell great, but it didn’t makea girl attractive to men. But my fruitcake perfumedid.

”I feel my heart growing with love for you, Anna,”said Mr Amos. He was looking at my body throughthe black dress.

Just then a waitress came to the table. She told methat I had a telephone call and asked me to answer itin the lounge.

I wondered what it was about.

”Excuse me, David -1 won’t be long,” I said.

”A minute is a long time when you’re gone, Anna,”he said. His words were like conversation from a badmovie. But I kept quiet about it - he was my boss,after all, even if he had gone crazy.

When I got to the lounge I took the phone. I noticedsomeone waving their arms at me from another

phone across the large room. I could see it was thatwaiter again- there were bits of cake all over his trousers.

Now what could he want?



I soon found out.

”Miss ...” his voice was excited at the other end of the line. ”... I know I am only a poor waiter but love

makes me brave...”

Why did everybody sound like bad movies tonight?

”When I saw you just now,” said the waiter, ”Icouldn’t stop myself from falling in love with you. Youare so beautiful. Please tell me you will see me... Iknow I can offer you more than that rich fool you’re

sitting with. I may not have his money or his looks,but I love you far more than he ever could. Please bemine!’

”Wait a minute, Romeo,” I said. ”Why don’t you justcalm down and serve the lobster, like a good littlewaiter?”

It was the perfume, my fruitcake special again. Thewaiter had a good smell of it when he had passed byearlier and now he thought he was in love with me,the poor man. It wasn’t his fault. I told him that if heloved me he would not talk loudly about it.

”Of course, my love. I will not embarrass you . . .darling!” the waiter said.

So far I’d had two men call me darling in oneevening. Aunt Mimi would be pleased.

But if the perfume had worked in that way on thewaiter, I had better take care not to pass by any



other males closely. I could end up with a group of men following me home, all saying they loved me.And wouldn’t that be awful? Well, wouldn’t it? Well,maybe not but it wouldn’t be easy to explain to

Momma. And I wouldn’t even mention it to AuntMimi!

Thank goodness the place was quiet that night. Iwalked back to the table, trying my best to keepaway from other men who were in the restaurant. Iwas lucky; it seemed that they would have to getclose to the perfume to get the effects.

When I got back to the table I saw that David hadbeen joined by Sabina, a beautiful young model whowas his latest girlfriend - their pictures had been inall the papers recently.

”So, you’re Anna I haven’t seen you before, Anna.”Sabina said my name as if it were a dirty word.

”Don’t you work for David making perfume orsomething? Terribly exciting.”

She held out her hand to me as if I were expected tokiss it. I didn’t.

”Sabina,” said David. ”Anna is the woman I love.”I could hardly believe my ears. David Amos was

telling me he loved me right under the nose of hisbeautiful girlfriend, Sabina. All because of myfruitcake. I had to say something. This was getting tobe silly.

”David, I really think...” I began.



But at that moment our waiter made anotherappearance. He was playing a guitar and singing ’OSole Mio’ to me at the top of his voice. Well, he did

say he wouldn’t talk loudly -1 didn’t say anythingabout singing loudly. I must remember next time.

As for Sabina, she didn’t know whether to laugh orcry at the sight of two men both saying how muchthey loved me at the same time - and while she wasthere.

So she hit David in the face.

The waiter sang even louder than before. David hithim on the chin. As I moved away from the table, afight developed between Sabina, David, the singingwaiter and several more waiters who were trying tocalm things down.

Soon the place was, a loud, confused mess of cake,pieces of lobster, pools of wine and bits of brokenguitar.

Time to go, I thought.

I ran downstairs and caught a taxi home. Thankgoodness the taxi driver was a woman!

* * *

When I got home, Aunt Mimi had gone and Mommawas asleep - she never could stay awake when she



was excited. I had some quiet moments to thinkabout what

had happened. Why had my perfume had such an

effect on men who would not normally take anynotice of me? Nothing had been put in that was anydifferent. Nothing, that is, except Aunt Mimi’sfruitcake.

What a fruitcake!

Then I had a thought. What if I, as a chemist, could

find out what it was in that fruitcake that caused mento go mad with love? People would pay a lot to knowa thing like that. I could make a lot of money! Therewas no reason, come to think of it, why I should letAmos Cosmetics know about it. After all, it wasn’ttheir fruitcake. But I couldn’t do a thing unless I knewwhat was in the cake - and only Aunt Mimi knew that.

I decided to miss work the next day - I would say Ihad a cold or something. I also wanted to avoidDavid Amos who might still be affected by thefruitcake special, or the fight that had followed.

Aunt Mimi lived in a nice little apartment on the otherside of town. I had gone out before Momma got up. Ididn’t want to be questioned about my ’new young

man’. It took an hour to get there on the bus.

When at last I arrived Aunt Mimi gave me a warmwelcome. Soon we were sitting in her kitchen, talkingabout this and that. We both knew what Aunt Mimiwas going to ask me about in the end, so neither of



us minded talking about other things first. Aunt Mimiwas good company when she wasn’t talking abouthusbands.

I mentioned the fruitcake.

”Anna,” said Aunt Mimi, ”I’ve known you since youwere born and you’ve never baked a cake in your-life. Now you want to know how to bake a fruitcake.What’s going on?”

”Nothing, Aunt Mimi, I just thought the cake was

delicious and wondered if I could bake one too. There’s no harm in that, is there?” Of course, I waslying. We both knew it.

”So,” Aunt Mimi said. ”This new man of yours hewants you to bake him a cake. Who does he thinkyou are, his mother? Just what were you two doinglast night, having a cookery class?”

”Oh, please, Aunt Mimi,” I begged. ”I really need toknow. I promise that as soon as you tell me I’ll tellyou everything about last night.”

Aunt Mimi was interested. ”Everything?”

”Everything,” I said. ”No secrets.”

Aunt Mimi smiled. ”Well, my dear, I hate to tell youthis but I didn’t make the cake. I bought it.”

”You bought it?” I said, unable to hide the surprise inmy voice.” Where did you buy it?”



”From a little place in the market, the open-air onethat takes place twice a week in the park. There’s anold lady there who said she used to bake them for

her husbands. She had seven of them, would youbelieve? And they all ate her fruitcakes.”

Somehow I wasn’t surprised that she had had sevenhusbands. Not with those fruitcakes.

”Did she say what she put in them?” I asked,hopefully.

”Only that she put in a ’special something’ that shegrew herself,” said Aunt Mimi. ”She wouldn’t saywhat. She told me that she only baked that kind of cake a few times. As a matter of fact, she knew that Iwas thinking about finding a husband for you. I don’tknow how she knew but she did.

Anyway, this woman who made the cake told me togive it to you and your problems would be over. Ididn’t believe what she said, but I used to buy thefruitcakes because they were delicious.”

T noticed that Aunt Mimi was talking about this old

lady as if she wasn’t around any more. I feared the

worst. Was she dead?

”Can we see this old lady to ask her about it?” Iasked.



Aunt Mimi looked at me sadly. ”I’m afraid she diedlast week -1 went to her funeral. They say she wasover a hundred years old. There were a lot of strangers there, not from around here, all speaking in

some kind of strange way. They seemed to think shewas important, though nobody ever took much noticeof her around here.”

”Except you, Aunt Mimi,” I said.

Aunt Mimi smiled. ”Well, you know how I can’t mindmy own business.”

I knew.”Speaking of which,” she said, moving closer to me,”it’s your turn.””My turn?” I asked.”To tell me everything that happened last night,” shesaid.And so I did. Everything, just as I had promised. Idon’t know whether Aunt Mimi believed me or not,

but if she didn’t she never let it show.

She’s not a bad old lady, my Aunt Mimi. Not whenyou get to know her.

* * *

In the end I had two days off work. I said I’d been

sick and in a way I was: I wouldn’t feel well until Iknew the truth about the fruitcake. I knew that therewas

little chance of discovering what actually went into it.F would have to work it out from the small amount I



had left in the bottle. I had used up more than Ithought the other night.

But I was not sure that I wanted to make my fortune

from the old woman’s secret. Perhaps it was onlyright that the secret should lie buried with her.

Then again, perhaps not.Momma seemed satisfied with my explanation thatthings had just not worked out between me and MrAmos, although she thought it a wasted opportunity- she wanted me to have a rich husband. Still,

happiness is what really counts, she said, with a noteof sadness in her voice.

When I finally got back to the factory there was amessage left on my desk - could I see Mr Amos assoon as I got in.

As I walked towards David Amos’s office I felt like a

schoolgirl who had to go to see the head teacher. Iwas sure that the fruitcake special would not still beworking by now - after all, he had not seen me for afew days. I knocked on his door.

Mr Amos was sitting behind his big desk with a largeblack eye. Standing next to him, smiling and wearingdark glasses and a hat, was Sabina. She had her arm

around his shoulders.

”I hope you are well now, Anna,” said Mr Amos.

”Yes, thank you, Mr Amos” I said. (I thought callinghim ’David’ might not be the best thing to do at this



point. I could see Sabina wasn’t pleased to see me.)”I hope you are well yourself,” I added quickly.

”My eye hurts a bit - your waiter could hit hard!” he

said with a little smile.So could Sabina, I thought, as I remembered how si10 had hit him. But I said nothing.

”Anyway,” Mr Amos said, ”I managed to calm themdown so that there was no more trouble and thepolice wore not called. Your waiter had been partly toblame, loo, so they accepted my apologies - at a

price, of course. At least the name of AmosCosmetics didn’t appear in the newspapers.And, as for that other matter of my strangebehaviour towards you - i can’t explain what affectedme. I mean, a man like myself and a woman like ... Imean ...” he looked towards Sabina.

Sabina finished it off for him.

”He means that a rich and handsome man like himcould not possibly fall in love with a nobody like youwhen he has a beautiful girl like me. Isn’t that right,David?”

”You express it so well, darling,” he said.Sabina continued: ”So David wants you to accept a

bit of money to make up for any disappointmentsyou may have had, then you can go back to makingperfumes at the factory again. Right, David?”

”Absolutely, darling,” said Mr Amos before turning tome again. ”Well, Anna, I hope that has helped to ...



er... clear things up a little. I’m sorry there had to bethis, er, confusion. I hope this has sorted things outbetween us.”

I stood watching Sabina smile as she put her fingersdown his collar.

”Well, Mr David Amos,” I said, ”perhaps you can useyour famous expert nose to sort this out, too!” I hadreached into my handbag for something to throwwhen I saw Sabina laughing. I took the top off thefirst thing I found and threw everything that was in

the bottle all over the front of Sabina’s dress.

”Take that and him too, you horrible little woman!” Ishouted.

When I looked at my hand it was holding the nowempty bottle of fruitcake special. The room wasalready beginning to fill with its smell. I got out

before Mr Amos lost control of himself again, out of the office and out of my career at Amos Cosmetics.

Sabina, of course, would now enjoy all the extraattention she would get from strange men, thanks tothe fruitcake special. I’m not sure that Mr DavidAmos would enjoy the competition, though.

* * *

It happened sometime later, shortly after I hadbegun to work at the factory where they madeIntrigue. I was trying to make a fruitcake (I mean you



never know!) when Momma and I heard a knock atthe door.

”Momma,” I said, ’if it’s Aunt Mimi with news of

another ’perfect boy’ for me, tell her I’m notinterested.”

”It’s not Aunt Mimi, dear,” said Momma.

”Who is it?” I asked.

”I think you had better come see for yourself,”

Momma said.

I went to the front door. It was Armstrong, the pizzadelivery man. He was holding up a pizza box whichhad ’Armstrong’s Peachy Pizzas’ in big letters on thefront.

Armstrong now owned the pizza company.

He explained that he’d fallen in love with me whenhe first delivered pizza to us; but he wanted to be asuccess before asking me out. He said I deserved noless. Then he gave me some flowers. I never reallynoticed before, but Armstrong is quite good looking:a bit short maybe, a little thin on top - but nobody’sperfect.A:\白血球.doc

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25285838 English Literature Component Form 4-5-2010 Short Stories