An iScot Short Story
WE’RE GETTING on a bit now, so we don’t do much at New Year. We wait up for the Bells, read, listen to music, and usually watch an old movie on DVD – this year it was Alfred Hitchcock’s 1934 version of The 39 Steps, still for me a lot better than the three remakes I’ve seen so far. We gave up the TV licence a few years ago. Then we have a drink – whisky for me, white wine for Mary – take our pills, and go to bed. We’d had our Zoom meeting with our daughter in Australia eight hours previously; our son would phone sometime the next day. I’d just helped Mary up the stairs – she wasn’t feeling so good today – and was tidying up the living room when the doorbell rang.