It's just a job

It’s just a Job

‘More grey Derek. Can you make it more grey?’

Derek was busily finishing off a branch which had got in the way. He had already done the sky. He was a sky painter. He tried to match the colours of the sky to the particular season. Sometimes he liked to surprise the folk below and throw in an azure hue when it was least expected. In February for example.

Derek loved his job. He was able to work under his own initiative, at his own speed, and the Inspector rarely visited.

But today he had company. His friend Alan had popped over. But Alan was not happy.

‘Would you like to talk about it?’ asked Derek.

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘You will think me foolish.’

‘I doubt that, Alan.’

‘Serenading.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s the serenading.’

‘Y-e-s.’

‘Damn and blast it. You see, I spend all my time serenading folk here there and everywhere – they rarely thank me, in fact they rarely see me. But . . .’ Alan took a deep breath. ‘But something has happened.’

Derek waited. He knew Alan was a sensitive soul and he knew that it was best to let him come out with the whatever in his own good time.

‘There’s a girl. There’s a beautiful girl. I have played my best. I have played my sweetest melody. She doesn’t notice me . . .’

Ah. Derek would have to choose his words carefully. ‘Alan mate. It must be hard for you . . . but the serenading happens because you are encouraging folk to be together.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Not with you Alan. With each other.’

‘I know that. But this girl . . .’

‘Leave it mate.’

Derek started packing up. He was done for the evening. Alan needed to get on. His work was due to begin.

‘But Derek?’

‘Yes mate?’

‘This girl . . .’

‘No Alan.’

‘Never?’

‘Never.’

Oh the trials of the heart . . . . .

Poor Alan went to work. He knew Derek was right but once, just once he wished he were serenading someone who might love him.

Sob.