Richard Osman

We are all gone in the blink of an eye, and there is nothing to do but live while you’re waiting.

‘Oh, nothing’s legal any more, you can barely walk down the street these days. You have to bend the rules sometimes,’

Let it go. Remember it as a happy time. You were at the top of the mountain, and now you’re in a valley. It will happen to you a number of times.’
‘So what do I do now?’
‘You climb the next mountain, of course.’
‘Oh yeah, of course,’ says Donna. Simple. ‘And what’s up the next mountain?’
‘Well, we don’t know, do we? It’s your mountain. No one’s ever climbed it before.’

Last time she was down she told me off for having the slats of my venetian blinds angled upwards instead of downwards. That was the straw that broke the camel’s hump for me. I said to her, I’d wanted to say it for ages, that I felt I could never get anything quite right, and she said well she felt the same, and I said that’s nonsense, and asked her what she meant, and she said, well Mum, I’m always too fat or too thin, or with the wrong man, or just split up with the right man, or I should wear my hair up or down or I work too hard or I have too many holidays, or I shouldn’t have painted my kitchen that colour. That actually struck a nerve, I can be a bit like that, but I decided to dig in, so I stood my ground and said Joanna, that’s because I care, that’s because I love you, and she said so you show me you love me by telling me I’m too fat? And I said well I know you’re happier when you’re not overweight

Elizabeth, for her part, applauded Joyce’s generosity of spirit, while noting that Mervyn, in certain lights, had the type of handsome looks that so often left Joyce helpless. The gruff Welshness of his voice, the darkness of his eyebrows, the moustache and that silver hair. Elizabeth more and more is getting the hang of Joyce’s type, and ‘anyone plausibly handsome’ seems to cover it. ‘He looks like a soap-opera villain,’ was Ron’s take, and Elizabeth was happy to accept his word on the matter.

‘They’ve taken her passport,’ says Mervyn.

‘Goodness,’ says Elizabeth. ‘That sounds unfortunate. Who has?’

‘The authorities,’ says Mervyn.

‘Sounds about right,’ says Ron, shaking his head. ‘Bloody authorities.’

Been a long time since someone paid me any attention.’

‘Although I’ve baked you a lot of cakes in the last few weeks,’ says Joyce.

‘I know, I know,’ says Mervyn. ‘But I meant romantic attention.’

‘My mistake,’ says Joyce, and Ron drinks to stifle a laugh.

Mitch’s warehouse bears the aluminium sign SUSSEX LOGISTICS SYSTEMS. Next door, in another echoing hangar, you’ll find FUTURE TRANSPORT SOLUTIONS LTD, a front for stolen high-performance cars. To the left is a Portakabin with no sign on the door, which is run by a woman Mitch has yet to meet, but who apparently churns out MDMA and passports. In the far corner of the lot is the winery and storage warehouse of BRAMBER – THE FINEST ENGLISH SPARKLING WINE, which Mitch recently discovered is actually a genuine business. The brother and sister who run it could not be more charming, and had given everyone a crate of their wine for Christmas.

Whether the brother and sister at Bramber Sparkling Wine had their suspicions that they were the only legitimate company in the whole compound, Mitch couldn’t
guess, but they had certainly once seen him buying a crossbow from Future Transport Solutions Ltd and hadn’t batted an eyelid, so they were sound enough. Mitch suspected there was good money to be made in English sparkling wine, and had thought about investing. In the end he hadn’t taken the plunge, because there was also good money to be made in heroin, and sometimes you should stick to what you know.

Someone had once asked Mitch to join a consortium to buy Everton Football Club. Tempting, to own a piece of his boyhood club, his lifelong passion, but the more Mitch looked into the business of football, the more he thought, once again, that he should probably stick to heroin.