Sketches, Dispatches, Hull Tales and Ballads - University of Hull

the hopes I had for my future? I imagined hope as a tiny boat
bobbing on the horizon trying desperately to find its way through
the treacherous murky currents of the Humber. I don’t know if the
people were particularly convinced by the politician’s words but we
all needed reassurance and I too wanted to believe that there was
hope on the horizon.
One night, after I’d filled five big black sacks with rubbish and had
just about finished tidying up I spotted a book under a seat at the
end of Row B. I imagined a student stowing it away carefully at the
start of the performance and then absentmindedly walking away
without it. Or perhaps some old biddy – a term I learnt from Danny
when a coach-load of them arrived from Grimsby to see Ladies’
Night – who, in the crush to leave the theatre at the end of the
performance, had forgotten all about it. The book was very beautiful,
bound in soft dark green leather with gold lettering and intricate
designs on the spine, the edges of each page brushed with gilt. I ran
my fingers over the cover, flicked through the silken pages and,
breathing in their musty smell, I was instantly transported back to
my father’s old bookshop where I had spent so many happy
childhood days.
Behind me the entrance door creaked open and when I turned
round with a start I saw Danny bumbling down the red-carpeted
steps towards me. In my confusion I slipped the book back into a
spare carrier bag, just to keep it safe. I’m not the kind of person who
keeps the things they find. Why would I do that? And besides, I
knew if I wanted to do well here I’d have to be careful. I wanted to
say something to Danny but my throat was dry, my tongue as stiff
as cardboard. I fussed about with the black sacks and felt the colour
rising to my cheeks.
‘Hello. Very nice weather we have. Not-bad-for-the-time-of-year,’
I recited mechanically feeling like an idiot.
‘What’s up wi’ you lass? You look like you seen a ghost.’ Danny’s
voice is rough but his eyes are gentle and his smile is broad.
‘No-rest-for-the-wicked,’ I say, repeating a phrase my supervisor
107