Short Story: 'Nothing Left'
Nothing Left Albert had fed all his bread to the swans. The swans didn’t know that of course and continued to pester him. It was of no consequence to them that tears were running steadily into his beard or that his rheumy eyes were feeling all of their eighty-four years. Albert had told them everything. Who else was there to tell? ‘Grandad, can I borrow £20 pounds, just to tide me over until pay day,’ was how it had all started. Albert remembered this first request from David. Albert had been watching TV and, before giving his usual very considered response, had sent two puffs of smoke into the centre of the drawing room and taken his pipe out of his mouth. ‘Of course you can old chap. When’s payday then?’ ‘It’s…er…a week Thursday Grandad.’ Albert had been a little disconcerted by the ‘er’. In his day he’d known exactly how long it was to payday. Nevertheless, he’d opened his floppy, shiny wallet, smiled fleetingly at his late wife Sarah’s photograph and tak...