Short Stories

SHORT STORIES

QWERTYUIOP

Vivien Alcock

Jobs don't grow on trees, the principal of the Belmont

Secretarial College was fond of saying.

"Be positive," Mrs Price told her departing students,

as she shook them by the hand in turn. "Go out into

the world andwinl I have every confidence in you."

When she came to the last student, however, her

confidence suddenly evaporated. She looked at Lucy

Beck, and sighed.

"Good luck, my dear," she said kindly, but rather in

the tone of voice of someone wishing a snowman a

happy summer.

Lucy Beck was young and small and mousecoloured,

easily overlooked. She had a lonely 'O' level and a

typing speed that would make a tortoise laugh.

"Whoever will want to employ me?" she had asked

Mrs Price once, and Mrs Price had been at a loss to

answer.

Lucy wanted a job. More than anyone, more than

anything, she wanted a job. She was tired of being

poor. She was fed up with macaroni cheese and

baked beans. She was sick of second-hand clothes.

"We are jumble sailors on the rough sea of life," her

mother would say.

Lucy loved her mother, but could not help wishing

she would sometimes lose her temper. Shout.

Scream. Throw saucepans at the spinning, grinning

head of Uncle Bert

SHORT STORIES

QWERTYUIOP

Vivien Alcock

Jobs don't grow on trees, the principal of the Belmont

Secretarial College was fond of saying.

"Be positive," Mrs Price told her departing students,

as she shook