Friends

Readers of our short stories don’t have to have long memories to recall work by Anne Maxwell, who had a previous short story entry published in the summer.

- Anne Maxwell

“YOU JUST CAN’T. It’s too much for you. I wouldn’t want to take it on and I’m half your age, Dad. Please think about it.” Joe slowly lifted his gaze and looked at his son with what he hoped was a face that gave nothing away.

“Okay. I’ll think about it but I’m not making any promises. I’ve lived in this house for nearly 50 years and I’m not like you youngsters who move every two years when you change your job!” Alan chuckled.

“Thanks Dad. It’s a long time since anyone called me a youngster. I’ll be looking at retirement myself soon. And when I do, I can tell you that I’ll be looking at taking things a bit easier, not trying to prove that I’m not getting older.”

“I am not trying to prove anything!” retorted Joe with more than a suggestion of annoyance in his voice. Joe mused over the conversation with his eldest child – approaching retirement or not, he was still Joe’s child and Joe began to wonder at what point in the relationship with your offspring do they decide that they know better than you. Was there really a point at which they silently (or not) became the more authoritative voice in any discussion between the two of you?

The Maples had been the only house that Joe and his wife Anna had ever owned. They bought it when they married and it was originally a three-bedroomed house with an unusually large garden.