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By Root 1016 0

bank manager, had aroused passions in him that had never even been tickled before. Symes’ philosophy in life seemed to be, if each day, I can bring a little unhappiness into the life of Edward Smallwood, then that day has not been in vain. Edward had mentioned it only once to his parents and the scolding of his father and the twittering sympathy of his mother had prevented him from ever doing so again. So he had borne the misery alone, a misery only experienced before in his schooldays. He was well aware of how others on the staff enjoyed his discomfort in the presence of the manager, and so was Symes; that was half the trouble. The manager seemed to go out of his way to humiliate him in front of the others, as though his own prestige was enhanced by these spiteful remarks. Edward sighed at the thought of the little but nasty tribulations the day would bring. With a bit of luck, Symes would be on one of his ‘get out and meet the local businessmen’ exercises that day, and they would see little of one another.

Edward pushed back the bedclothes and groped for his glasses, hidden somewhere on the small bedside table. He tutted as he knocked over the half-drunk cup of weak tea his mother had brought up to him earlier. His day had already been ruined by the fog which had suddenly descended upon him while he was fishing on a remote bank of the River Avon at six o’clock that morning. Twice a week he cycled out to his favourite spot to fish, a pleasure of which even his parents approved. His doctor recommended early morning fresh air to help rid him of his constant catarrh, an ailment that caused him to snuffle most of his way through the day. He hadn’t noticed the early morning fresh air relieving his congestion much, but had found great pleasure in the quiet solitude of the riverbank and it helped him to steel himself against the day. He even regretted catching any fish and rarely baited his hook. Now and again he had to, to satisfy the serious enquiries of his father, but to pull a life from its watery existence left him with a feeling of sorrow.

But that particular morning, engrossed in his own thoughts, the yellowy mist had steathily crept around him and it was only when he suddenly realized he could hardly see the end of his line that he became aware of the fog surrounding him. A little frightened by the suddenness of it, he had quickly packed away his flask and fishing tackle and tried to find his way back to the main road. It had taken him a good ten minutes of bumping into trees, becoming entangled in low-lying bushes to do this. Fortunately, the fog did not extend as far as the main road and, more by luck than judgement, he found himself back in bright sunlight. His mother was, as usual, overly sympathetic when he reached home, and packed him off to bed for an extra hour’s rest before he went off to work. He was surprised to find later that he’d actually dozed off for that hour, but the fog had left a nasty taste in his mouth which his mother’s weak tea did little to dispel.

He found his glasses and rubbed his eyes before putting them on, frowning with a headache that he had just become aware of. He made his way to the bathroom, bidding his father good-morning as he passed his door, knowing the old man would be propped up in bed reading the Telegraph, munching toast, sipping tea.

‘Good morning, Edward!’ came the brisk reply, and Edward repeated his ‘Good morning, Father.’

After a more thorough toilet than his earlier effort, he went back to his room and dressed, putting on the clothes his mother had carefully laid out for him the night before. He went downstairs, kissed his mother’s proffered cheek, and sat down at the table, not feeling very hungry, despite his early morning exercise. He made an attempt to eat but had to push the plate away after a short while. His mother looked at the remnants of his bacon and eggs and then peered anxiously into his face.

‘Aren’t you feeling well, dear?’ she asked.

‘I’m all right, Mother, just not feeling very hungry, that’s all.’ He sipped his tea, looking down into his cup rather