Dedicated to a very special lady who means the world to me. She has helped and encouraged me to write again after many years of just reading. She has become so much more to me than just a friend and she will always have a special place in my heart xxx
I had spent almost 40 years in the Accountancy profession based in the Greater Manchester area rising to the position of a partnership in a small firm. Not the most exciting of occupations but it had certainly had its moments over the years. I had met some lovely people and made more than enough money to keep me comfortable for the rest of my years.
I had come from a mining community background that had molded me and helped shape my socialist beliefs and that ethos that those of us who had done well and raised their heads above the parapet were duty bound to help those who had been less fortunate. It helped my conscience that I had been involved with many local charities over the years and twice had undertaken the hazardous walk across Morecambe Bay as a fundraiser.
As a result I had become quite good friends with someone who did a lot of charity work himself especially for the local hospice where his wife had unfortunately died some years earlier.
One evening we were sharing a pint in the local club where we were both members. Richard told me that he had recently taken up a post on the committee that oversaw many of the hospices throughout the North of England. He knew that I was now semi retired and wanted to pick my brains on one or two things. It seemed that the hospices were now, more than ever, in need of funds and were looking to raise their profile in the retail sector with the opening of more charity shops and other associated outlets. He knew that my accountancy experience had centered on retail businesses and hoped I could help them in some way. He knew me well enough to know that I was not someone who would say "No" to a good cause and it actually sounded something that quite appealed.
I had reduced my workload considerably over the last couple of years mainly as a result of being diagnosed with neuropathy which affected my right foot quite badly and eventually I had to admit defeat and stopped driving and sold my car. My work had taken me throughout Lancashire and Yorkshire and without a car many places were much harder to access.
Richard knew of my problems but said the hospice movement would be more than happy to accommodate my fairly minor disability. A lot of the work would be locally based but where travel was required they would be more than happy to re-imburse me for train journeys and even overnight accommodation where necessary.
Having agreed to help Richard set about putting the wheels in motion to get me approved by the relevant people and sort out the paperwork needed. As the "work" related to a charitable concern it was necessary to jump through a few hoops to mame sure I was a fit and proper person but eventually things were sorted and I was notified of my first project.
I found myself a few weeks later on my way for a few nights in Skipton, the gateway to the Yorkshire Dales as they liked to describe themselves. Bus and Metrolink into Manchester before the train journey to Skipton, a town I knew reasonably well having had retail clients there for several years and also visited socially as well. I remembered a lovely day spent with my two older grandchildren at Skipton Castle when they were much younger.
I was told I would be liaising with another volunteer based in that area and that I may need to be there for two or three nights at this stage. I booked a room at the Woolly Sheep which I knew was very central in the town. I had eaten there on previous visits but never stayed overnight. The location was excellent and I did not want to incur too much expense knowing the costs were being born by a charity organisation. I also knew they had a reputation for keeping several good cask beers which was always a positive for someone who had grown up in a pre-Lager generation when beer was beer.
A short taxi ride from the station and I was checking in and being shown to my room overlooking Market Street which, true to its name, was the home to the on-street market on certain days of the week.
I unpacked the few items I had brought with me and thought I would take a bit of a walk around the town centre to see how it had changed in the two or three years since I had last visited. Things seemed to have changed very little other than the fact that Rackhams the upmarket department store appeared to have closed. It had been part of the House of Fraser group once owned by the Al Fayed family. It appeared that Covid had hit the shop hard and with the increase in on-line shopping they had seen a reduced footfall and made the decision to close. All in all Skipton had always been quite a prosperous town surrounded by extensive farmland and some quite wealthy people. Clearly belts were being tightened even in this neck of the woods and that was a positive in terms of the charity shop presence.
I got back to the Woolly Sheep and decided on an early evening meal as I had not eaten since breakfast. For a pub the menu was quite extensive but I settled on an old favourite of steak -- medium rare -- chips and a fresh side salad together with a pint of Timothy Taylors Bitter. The service was very quick at that time and I soon found myself looking at an empty plate and ordering a second pint of the delicious cask beer.
Half way down my second pint my phone pinged. It was a text from Richard hoping I had arrived safely. He had arranged for me to meet up at midday the following day in the Wetherspoons that was only a five minute walk from the Woolly Sheep. I knew it well. The Devonshire Arms was quite an upmarket establishment by Wetherspoons standards that reflected the type of clientele who lived in the Skipton area.
I was to meet a middle aged lady named Mica and take things from there. She was aware that I had no transport of my own and would be my guide throughout my trip. Despite having had a long career with British Telecom Richard's texting was somewhat suspect. Mica was a name I had never come across before and I wondered if Richard's fingers had gone wrong somewhere. I tried to imagine the other possibilities. Rita?? - Meta -- I once worked with a typist called Meta who was of Scottish ancestry. Mica sounded unlikely but the name certainly had a ring to it. I imagined what a middle aged Yorkshire lady might look like as I settled for a third pint before going up for an early night. I had an image in my head but the following day was to prove me very wrong.
I slept very well no doubt aided by a very comfortable bed and the three excellent pints of beer but as a result of the latter needing release I was up quite early. I grabbed a shower, checked my emails etc and then headed downstairs to enjoy a hearty Yorkshire breakfast. Definitely a 5 out of 5 and I was glad my meeting with Mica, or whatever her name was, was not until midday as that gave me chance for a read at the morning paper and a relax.
Soon it was time to go and get myself ready for the short walk across to the Devonshire Arms. I had always been one who believed that being early is being on time - being on time is being late and being late is not acceptable. So at about 11.45 I walked into the front entrance of the Devonshire Arms and looked around for someone fitting the description I had in my head of the lady I was meant to meet. No-one fitted the description but I was early and so I found a table and ordered a coffee from the bar.
A few minutes later the door opened and a very attractive lady walked in. Blonde hair nicely styled and a smart dress that finished quite a way above her knee. Her make up was perfectly done to just the right level. She looked around and then walked towards me. A smile lit up her lovely face.
"John?" She asked. I was a little taken aback that she knew my name. "I'm Mica." Her pronunciation of her name was not as I expected. Her appearance was even less like I had expected. I felt a slight throbbing in my boxers just looking at her. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting?" she added.
"Not at all. I was here early. Take a seat." I stuttered "Tea or coffee?"
"Looks like you are on coffee so I'll join you if that's ok."
I went over to the bar and ordered two coffees to our table.
Returning to join Mica I thought I should make some conversation.
"You are not what I was expecting," I ventured.
