AN ARMCHAIR MYSTERY.

Margaret Fairway, 82 and still going strong, was tired after dropping all her clutter off at the charity shop. It was a hot day so she looked around for somewhere to sit down for a few minutes. A large brown armchair was positioned invitingly in a shady area just outside the shop so she headed towards it and picked up the newspaper that was on the seat. Her mind registered the photo of a blonde haired boy as she pushed it down the side of the chair and sat down.

She let her arms rest in her lap. Her head plopped forward on to her chest and she promptly nodded off. Some time later a bumping, rumbling sound shook her awake.

Margaret  Fairway was in the back of a truck. She scrunched her eyes trying to make sense of her surroundings. The vehicle was travelling at speed and the armchair and Margaret were bouncing about like a lost seagull in a very rough sea. She glanced around the dark interior and could just make out different shapes around her.

And then she heard it.

A low sobbing sound.

It was coming from behind a pile of furniture at the front of the vehicle. Margaret got out of the armchair and made her way to where she’d heard the sound.

She pulled at the assortment of chairs and small tables. Through a crack in the side of the truck a splash of light caught the tear - streaked face of a young blonde haired boy.

Margaret reached out her hand to the cowering child.

‘Hello,’ she said gently, ‘who are you?’

The boy pulled away and put his arms over his eyes. His sobbing became louder.

Suddenly the vehicle hit a bump and Margaret was thrown off balance.

A male voice drifted towards her from the driver’s cabin.

‘I‘ve got the cargo.’

There was a sound of swearing and banging.

‘Bloody phone. Oi! Are you there? I said I’ve got the cargo. I just need to know where to drop it off.’

More mumbling and swearing followed.

‘Pick up a what? But the truck’s full mate. There’s no room for an armchair.’

More swearing.

‘Ok. Ok. I’ll stop by there and grab it.’

Margaret was just starting to wonder where she was when and almighty jolt sent her reeling back into the armchair once again. Her wondering stopped, as her head dropped forward, onto her chest and her eyes closed.

‘Oi Mrs. You can’t sit there. I got orders to pick up that arm chair.’

The voice seemed so very far away and was interrupting her nap.

‘Oi! I said you can’t sit there,’ said the man again.

Margaret’s eyes sprang open!

That voice. She was sure she’d heard it somewhere before.
The she saw the truck directly in front of her and  remembered.

The voice! The truck! The blonde haired boy! The newspaper!

The newspaper!

Margaret fumbled around and slid her hand down the side of the armchair. Retrieving the newspaper she glanced at the photo on the front page.

Shooting out of the armchair she ran inside the charity shop and reached behind the counter. She grabbed the phone and dialled triple zero.

She spoke for a few seconds then headed back outside. The truck driver was busy opening the back doors of the truck and didn’t notice Margaret wander past him and climb up into the truck. She removed the keys from the ignition and  clambered back down and walked back the way she had come. She smiled as she watched the driver trying to drag the armchair towards the back of the truck and she chuckled when he stopped dragging the chair and ran to the front of the truck. He jumped in, just as the police car entered the parking area.

Two officers led the driver away as a third officer walked over to Margaret, She handed the newspaper to him, then pointed to the back of the truck.

‘He’s in there.’

Margaret sat down in the armchair and smiled. It had been quite a long day really but it had ended rather well she was thinking to herself. Her head dropped forward onto her chest. Her eyes closed and she nodded off…