smallhobbit

“I’m just collecting a few items for a family who’ve been made homeless,” Fred said.  “Just a few tins, oh, and a cake for the kiddies, just a little treat.”  He returned a couple of items to the shelves.

Violet looked inside the basket.  “And why are they homeless?” she asked.

“They couldn’t pay the rent.  Mr Clarke was working as a driver, but then he was injured in an accident, not his fault, and got laid off.  He used to be an accountant, but he can’t get any work.”

“Why can’t he get work?  There are vacancies around for people who are good with figures.  And how do you know them, anyway?”

“Cyril’s trying to help them.  And before you say anything, he didn’t ask me to give him stuff for free.  He paid for what he took.  I just thought a few extras wouldn’t go amiss.”

“So they’re black.  Well, that explains it.  And don’t look at me like that, Fred Buckle.  I meant that explains why they were kicked out as soon as they were behind with the rent, and why he is having trouble finding a job.  Where are they living at the moment?”

“They’re in a squat.”

“They’re in a squat and you’re taking them tins.”

“Cyril’s found them a couple of saucepans so they can heat food up.”

“Wait there a minute – I’ll be back and I’m coming with you.”

Violet disappeared and returned shortly afterwards.  “I’ve brought our spare tin opener; in case they don’t have one.  Not much use in having tins if you can’t open them.”  She took a jar of jam off the shelf and put it in the basket.  “A bit of jam on your bread makes all the difference.”  She opened the shop door and looked round, “Come on, Fred!  I haven’t got all day.”