Chapter 4
"No, I understand, Mr Vader. Yes, you have our full sympathies. People really should be alerted to the problem but we have our next issue dedicated to – yes, we do appreciate the importance of it. Honestly. And it is serious. We just aren't able to cover – no, that's fine. Perhaps I could suggest 'News of The World' or one of the other – yes, I think your story is probably more suited to their format. We're a junior newspaper and I think your story is aimed at an older demographic – certainly, Mr Vader. No problem at all. Take care. Bye now."
Kenny hung up the phone and Sam, who was propped up on his desk listening, exploded into laughter.
"Sam, it's not funny. The man has a serious condition."
"It sounds like he has several," replied Sam. "What was it this week? UFOs? Poisoned water supply? Lynda Day has an evil – or should I say, eviller – twin?"
"No, no. It was a very serious issue he raised," said Kenny, trying to keep a straight face.
"Well, what was it?" she asked.
"Er, he believes – very strongly, mind you – that the Prime Minister has been assassinated and replaced with a look-alike who intends to slowly introduce communism to Britain."
Sam doubled over with laughter.
"Come on, Sam, it's not that . . ." Kenny failed utterly at this point in trying not to laugh and joined her.
"You two must be right on top of everything if you've got time to laugh and joke," said Lynda. "Sam, how's the centre spread coming? And Kenny, have you interviewed your grandfather yet?"
"I was just off to do it now, Boss," replied Kenny as Sam shot Lynda a dark look and slid off to the graphics department.
"Well, don't let Sam keep you," said Lynda. Kenny rolled his eyes and gathered his stuff from his desk. Sam waved him off flirtily with her scarf from the graphics room window and he grinned and gave her a salute in return. She clutched her scarf to her chest and pretended to swoon. Kenny blushed and left the newsroom. What was it about Sam? Was she just pretending to find something interesting about Kenny The Strawberry Milkshake?
This thought kept him occupied until he reached Lancress Drive and his grandfather's house. Sean Philips was a remarkably active old gentleman, his recent stay in hospital having been from over-exerting himself during his long-running DIY home renovations. Kenny knocked on the door and let himself in, the floorboard in front of the door creaking and bending ominiously.
"We'll have to fix those floorboards soon, Grandad," he said, coming into the kitchen, where he found his grandfather pouring a cup of tea.
"All in good time, Kenny, lad, all in good time," came the lilting Irish reply. "You'll be joining me in a cup?"
"Go on, then," Kenny nodded as he set his notebook on the table. The steaming mug was placed in front of him and his Grandfather took a chair opposite and sipped at his own mug appreciatively.
"Ahh, good drop. They don't make a decent cup in hospital, I can tell you that. Muck, it was." He shook his head in disgust. "A person's laid up and pining for a decent cup of tea and gets dirty dishwater instead. There ought to be a law."
Kenny grinned. "Now, about this interview, Grandad. Are you ready to begin?"
"I am, lad," replied the old man. "I even have a box of things like you asked for. Photos and the like." He tapped the ancient biscuit tin on the table. "You can use what you want."
"Brilliant. Thanks, Grandad." Kenny opened the tin and sorted randomly through the photos, letters and other miscellany inside. Near the bottom was a picture of a pretty lady. Kenny held it up.
"This isn't Grandma, is it?" he asked. Sean looked at it briefly.
"No. Don't think it even belonged to me. Must have been one of the other lads and got mixed up with my things." He tossed it back into the box. "Now, are you going to be asking some questions?"