Open Writing

Brindle screwed up the letter and threw it down, there, in the hallway.

'I'm going out,' he called to Mrs Caddis, his landlady.

He walked up and down the streets. 'Why can't they see that I'm the man for the job?' he muttered.

He kept his eyes down. Then he felt as if he'd bumped into somebody. 'Watch where you're going,' said the voice of his late twin brother, Tom.

'Oh, it's you,' said Brindle, 'what are you doing in this part of town?'

'I might ask you the same question,' said Tom.

'Oh,' said Brindle, 'I'm just walking - and thinking.'

A pub was open. Brindle carried two pints to a table away from the bar.

'Well, what are you thinking about?' asked Tom.

'They've turned me down for the manager's job.'

The manager's job?'

'Yes, of the Rovers.'

'You mean the football team?'

'Of course - it's always been my goal, so to speak.'

'But you know bugger all about football, except as a spectator.'

'Precisely, it's as a spectator that I see more of the game.'

'Do you mean to tell me that you actually applied for the job?'

That is correct - and all I got was a letter of rejection.'

Silence. Then Tom said, 'Shouldn't you be at work today?'

'Oh, I gave up my job last week,' replied Brindle smugly.

'And why the hell did you do that?' rasped Tom. 'No, don't tell me ..."

'Everything all right, mate?' called the barman.

'Ah, Mr Brindle,' said Mrs Caddis when he got back, 'this letter you left in the hallway ... I shouldn't have read it but... come on, let's have a nice cup of tea and then you can tell me about it.'

'Yes, of course, Mrs Caddis,' he said, 'I'll tell you everything.'