Open Writing

Can a handyman be too handy? Richard Mallinson tells of concern among the hotel guests.

The Handyman

‘The old geezers are in the bar, Mr Bersted,’ said Don Stack, the handyman.

‘Thanks, Don,’ I said. ‘How’s your wife?’

‘Oh, she’s so-so,’ he said, slowly moving away.

In the bar they didn’t see me at first.

‘What’s all this, then?’ I said. ‘A conspiracy?’

‘The usual, Mr Bersted? asked Cindy, my barmaid.

‘Yes, please, Cindy,’ I said politely.

‘No, we’re not conspiring,’ said one of the residents, ‘but we do think that something should be done about Don. He’s getting out of hand.’

‘Well, I said,’ we can’t have that, can we, a handyman getting out of hand!’

‘Oh, I’m sorry that you think it’s funny, Mr Bersted,’ said another.

‘It’s quite true, Mr Bersted,’ said Cindy. ‘Don is getting out of hand – wiv his ands, if you see wot I mean.’

‘Look, Don,’ I said next morning as we stood on the lawn at the front of the hotel, ‘we’ve got a bit of a problem here.’

‘Where?’

‘Here, in the hotel. . . some of the residents think that you’re, er, getting out of hand. Sort of too big for your boots, I suppose.’

‘Wot does that mean, d’you think?’

‘I’m not exactly sure,’ I admitted. ‘Then there’s Cindy. . . she says that you’re getting too handy with your, er, hands.’

‘Well,’ he grunted, ‘she never complained before.’

That night I took a phone call in the bar from Don’s wife.

‘It’s not fair, Mr Bersted,’ she said, ‘sacking im after all these years. He’s been a loyal andyman an thought the world of you.’

‘Oh, I am sorry, Mrs Stack,’ I said, ‘but I really had no choice.’

‘Well,’ said Cindy later, when the bar was closed. ‘I’ve got to and it to you, Mr Bersted. . . Ooh, that’ll be my boyfriend, coming to collect me.’