George Golding

I scribbled out a ticket to place on a misparked car. One of the many things a rookie police officer has to do. As I bent to tuck the fluttering yellow slip behind a windscreen wiper, I saw the solicitor's sign reflected in the front window. "Franks & Holmes". I'd just been to Franks & Holmes the other day, and just a glance at the gleaming golden letters over the door took me back to Tuesday morning. Tuesday morning as I sat uncomfortably in my black suit, a used handkerchief stuffed into the breast pocket. I'd tried not to cry...but, well. It seemed innapropriate not to. I just made sure I had saved the tears to the car ride, after the elegy. I didn't want to break down in front of everyone in my family. I had to keep strong. Move along.

Thomas Franks, a man in his middle ages now, sat down across the desk from me, smoothing his combover which was thinning and grey. He cleared his throat and opened the testament, before giving me a half-smile.

'Well, Mr Golding. Let's see what your father has left you.'

My father. I blew my nose as Franks adjusted his spectacles. He was a generic solicitor. Just like my father had been the generic dad. But at the same time, so much mother had died when I was still young so I can only remember my father bringing me up. Which he did a brilliant job of. When I was eleven, my father was offered a high rise job in the city, with a payment triple his normal wage. He turned it down, said he didn't want to disrupt the kids. And we didn't mind. My sisters and I coped. But it turns out my father wasn't so hard up as we'd thought.

'Hm. "To my daughters, Fiona and Teresa, I leave £10, 000, which I hope will build up interest in their accounts until they reach eighteen..."' Franks mumbled through part of the will about my sisters, who couldn't be here. Too young. Teresa would be seventeen in a month...they were growing so fast. Not that I was much older. '"...and to my only son and eldest child, George David Golding, I leave £40, 000, an amount built up with the combined money of his parents and grandmother."'

I blinked and blinked all day. I never knew...then again, my mother did come from some family that used to be aristocracy. Well. And then I leaned back, and it was the present once more. A week since my father died. And a new start, I had decided. I had resolved to better myself, help the people, work harder in the police force. It had just been a job prospect to build up money towards university...but I wanted to do something for others before myself. Like my father would have done.

I strolled down the street, looking for more illegally parked cars. Alleyways were clear enough at these hours-it was the evenings you had to worry about. Nevertheless, I liked to peer down each one just in case. Ha. A nervy cop.

Just then I had to stop. I knew the alleyway I had just walked past...well, it had seemed empty at the time but I had a feeling, a gut instinct. To check again. I walked back and started. There were...drapes, a mattress. Girls. Girls?

I walked down towards them, calling 'Hey! What do you think you're doing?'

The End

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