The Grand Master
Flash Fiction
After the Edinburgh tournament, we were on our way to London on the Caledonian Sleeper. A minute before we were due to leave, a breathless young man, possibly a student, rushed in. The new arrival did not say anything, but smiled at us, and we smiled back and nodded. After he had settled down, the younger man turned to us and asked, D’you know at what time we get to Newcastle? He said Newcathtsle. I did not know, but expected René to answer, but he frowned and said nothing. And he made it obvious that he was not going to pursue a conversation with what he now obviously saw as an intruder. I tried to convey to him by my facial expressions that I did not approve.
He pretended to doze off, and I would have welcomed a conversation with the student, but I was not going to initiate it. Shortly after we had left Newcastle, the young chap headed to the outside toilet, and I seized this opportunity to have a go at my ill-mannered spouse.
Why are you so rude to that poor sod? What happened to Mr Courteous that everybody knows and loves?
I’ll tell you what’s what. Courteous and kind you say. That’s exactly why.
What the hell d’you mean?
Right. Courteous me, I respond to his queries, embark on a conversation with the fellow, and he is a chatterbox, and begins telling me the story of his life, and Courteous me, I respond with my own autobiography. We warm up to each other, and I end up asking him over to The Mill_
What’s wrong with that? He might be excellent company.
Excellent company you say? So, what’s to stop him and Fiona becoming friends?
What’s wrong with that?
In no time at all they fall in love_
Well dear, if they do they do!
You’d approve?
It’s not for me_
Then they end up getting married_
She’s gonna get married some day, that’s for sure.
And she’ll have his baby, how about that?
Isn’t that the idea? Fall in love, get married, have babies.
How would you like a lisping grandchild?
