Fast Fiction: Grist From The Mill
So who was Pc Denby talking to on that snow-chilled night? Richard Mallinson tells a timely tale for a dark season.
Is this what happened?
Up at Grist Hall old Mr Grist leapt from his sickbed. He ran downstairs and into town, his long white hair blowing back, his pyjamas flapping over his skinny body, his bare feet squishing in the snow.
When he reached the derelict mill of Grist Bros he was barred by Pc Denby from entering the premises, which for many years had echoed with the noise of machinery and the laughter of mill girls.
In fact old Mr Grist, though not of course old at the time, had married one of the mill girls and fathered a son by another. Also there had been intimacies with others - and cash discreetly handed over.
'Now come along, old Mr Grist,' said Pc Denby, 'we need to get you home, you must be freezing. I'll take you back up to Grist Hall and -'
Pc Denby paused. The snow fell heavily on him.
'Wait a minute,' he said, looking round and seeing nothing, 'old Mr Grist died ten years ago and Grist Hall has been empty ever since.'
*
Is this what happened next?
There was flurry of snow and the large form of Sgt Broddy arrived.
'Talking to ourselves again, are we, constable?’ said Sgt Broddy. 'This beat seems to be having a very peculiar effect on you, my lad. Next week you can try the gasworks patch and see if that does anything for you.'
*
And is this how it ended?
Some years later, when Sgt Broddy had died of a heart attack, Chief Insp Denby told some of his underlings that Sgt Broddy had always had a shrewd grasp of human nature.
The underlings, who had never really noticed this quality in their late colleague, instantly agreed. 'Yes, boss, very true, boss,' they cried.
