Dead Ringer

Dead Ringer

'You know, Duncan, you're a dead ringer for that moaning bloke on the
TV. You know, the one with a face as sour as sin who's always
complaining. Do you have to be so negative all the time?' Mary's voice
was shrill with exasperation.

'Well, that's dead nice isn't it then. If you think I'm such a
sour-faced old git, why are you still here then? You don't have to
stay, you know. You're dead lucky, you can just go.'

Duncan was upset. He was not used to Mary complaining. Usually she
listened and agreed with him whatever his point of view was. She kept
her own thoughts private.

'What are you complaining about anyway? All I said was that your boss
was dead thick. You've said yourself that sometimes that the Jones
idiot doesn't seem to know what you're going on about.'

Mary gave up the 'discussion' and went back to washing the dishes.
Duncan had cause for thought and as he usually did, he went out to the
garden shed to smoke, and think about it. Negative? Well, he'd always
been dead up front. He didn't pretend, he just came right out and said
it. Dead straight he was. He thought a bit longer and then he stormed
indignantly to see Mary.

'Dead wrong, you are. I'm not negative. Just because I see folk's human
side like, doesn't mean I'm negative.'

'No, of course not.' Mary had been sitting at the kitchen table. Duncan
had the fleeting thought that she looked rather 'down'. Then he
thought, 'probably woman's stuff', and went back out.

He came back a moment later. He would try again. ' Is anything wrong?'
he said. Pity it came out as an accusation.

Mary looked at him as if she hated him. 'I've got the sack. And yes, I
did tell Jones what I thought about him. Didn't hold anything back. Was
proper aggressive and all. You'd have been proud of me. . .'

Duncan was confused. The words did not go with the way she was looking
at him and her tone of voice.

'Well . . . .' She stormed out before he had decided whether to
congratulate her for speaking her mind, or commiserate with her for
being fired because of it. He went back outside, heading for the shed,
his refuge and hiding place.

On the way down the path, his neighbour put his head over the fence.
'Have you heard yet, about the redundancies? You being in with the
bosses and all, I thought you would know. There's so many rumours going
round. There was a pack of press at the gates tonight.'

Duncan sighed. 'No Joe, there's been no definite word, but I know my
job's dead. They'll bump off all the temporary supervisors first, call
it redundancy. It's looking quite grim really.'

Joe was quiet for a few minutes, then his usually annoying good nature
came back. 'It'll be OK. At least the wives can carry on working.
There's no shortage of jobs for office workers and shop assistants.
We'll just let our wives be the wage earners eh? They enjoy going to
work. All their chums to gossip with. We'll just do our gardening and
sit in the sun and drink beer. Sounds OK, doesn't it? Just our good
fortune eh?'

'Dead unlucky if you ask me.' Duncan went into his shed. He stood there
for a long time just staring out of the window. He wasn't really keen
on gardening. The shed was only for smoking in after Mary banned
cigarettes from the house. There were a few paltry garden tools in one
corner, but apart from the lawn mower, they were largely unused.

What would they do? They had quite a bit of debt, nothing spectacular,
but they had enjoyed expensive holidays over the last few years. How
would they manage with no wages coming in? They would have to get other
jobs. They weren't teenagers any more. Duncan knew all about
unemployment. He read the papers and listened to the news. What about
retraining? He could go to college . . . , Mary as well perhaps. She
had always wanted to be a nurse. Maybe she could do that now. She'd
make a dead fine nurse. He began to think of the plus side. Dead lucky
really, chance for a new life. He was getting sick of the old job
anyway.

Suddenly, he needed to talk to Mary and went into the house, shouting
for her. He was getting quite excited.

'Mary, Mary, where are you? It's dead exciting, really.'

He found her eventually in their bedroom, lying prone on the bed. Empty
pill bottles were scattered round her. Mary was dead.

'I don't believe it,' he said to the empty house. 'I just don't believe
it. . . .'