Dear Mr Merry, the letter read. Thank you for your interest in the advertised position with Walker & Co. We are sorry to inform you that in this instance, you have been unsuccessful. However, should a similar vacancy arise, we will consider your application anew. Yours, etc, etc …


With a resigned sigh, Richard screwed-up the envelope and carefully added the letter to the pile on his desk.
"I'm going down the shed," he muttered dejectedly, avoiding the questioning look from his wife, Alison.

Alison was beginning to worry about Richard's state of mind. It was now eleven weeks since he had been made redundant from the company that he had worked for since his teens and now, at the age of forty-eight, the constant rejections were hitting him hard. Some of them were brutally honest in pointing out that, as an architect, he was definitely over-qualified for their needs, others of course we're looking for a younger applicant.
She wanted him to have a job. It wasn't that they needed the money, their mortgage had been settled years ago and their only son, Graham, was now married with his own child, Emily-Jane.
Richard spent most of his time now in his shed: a small workshop where he designed and built wooden toys for their granddaughter. His pride and joy was an opulent dolls house made from imported hardwood; a toy which held a special place in Emily-Jane's bedroom. But it was becoming increasingly obvious that even his interest in this creative hobby was waning. Richard had always loved the time he spent hidden-away in his shed; he wallowed in the rich mixture of smells emanating from the various exotic hardwoods, the glues and the oils. The atmosphere seemed to envelope him in a familiar cloak of warmth and security. Here, in his shed, he felt safe.

While Richard dealt with his demons in solitude, Alison's escape was time spent with their granddaughter. It was while waiting at the school gates to collect Emily-Jane that, although she didn't recognise it at the time, a strange opportunity arose.
She was showing-off a new photograph of Emily-Jane to a group of other grandmothers. The Grandmothers' Collective they laughingly called themselves. It was a framed photograph that she had received, with an enormous bunch of flowers recently on Mothers' Day. Although dutifully admiring the little girl, one of the other women's attention had been drawn to the dolls house in the background. "What a beautiful dolls house!" she exclaimed. "Where did you buy it?"

"My husband made it," replied Alison, proudly. "He's got a workshop in the garden. It's his hobby, he's always designing something new for Emily-Jane"

"Do you think he would make one for my granddaughter?" asked the woman. It would be wonderful for her birthday. That's if he's not too busy. I would pay, of course," she added, before the oft embarrassing subject of money came up.

"Oh, I don't think he will be too busy," replied Alison with a wry smile. "I could ask him, when would you need it by?"

Later that evening, after discussing the woman's request with Richard, Alison detected a new animation in Richard's mood. Although he had immediately made excuses not to consider the idea, she was pleased to see that his armchair was once again littered with notebooks and screwed up sheets of paper, all a sure sign that a design was bubbling away in his mind.
And, most encouraging of all was the fact that he was not slouched down in his chair virtually comatose.

"Do you know, Ali," Richard said as they settled down to bed that evening. "I've found the old design I was going to use for Emily-Jane's house before I built the 'Hacienda'." He referred to Emily-Jane's current dolls house. I only didn't do this one because time was short and I couldn't get the wood I needed in time.

"Yes, dear, I remember," said Alison gently as she settled back with her book. A chirpy Richard at this time of the evening was definitely a bonus.

"I'll just tidy up the design tomorrow and maybe we can show that lady. What did you say her name was?"

The lady in question, Alexandra, was immediately overjoyed with Richard's proposal and, confirming that Richard could have the model ready by the young lady's birthday, a price was agreed.
Richard's mood improved literally overnight. Alison was cheered to hear him humming tunelessly to himself as he pottered around the house on the frequent visits from his shed; usually to show her yet another perfectly-formed section of the miniature building.
So absorbed was he in the project that he no longer waited expectantly for the daily post to arrive and Alison often had to remind him to spend some time each day researching job opportunities. Rejections, of which there were still a few, no longer pushed him into the black depths of his previous despair.

Completion Day arrived. Alison was highly amused at the serious way that Richard treated the handing-over of the model house, acting almost as an estate agent as Alexandra was given the guided tour before taking possession.
"Oh, Richard, it's so beautiful. Susie will love it: you should be really proud of it. Thank you." It was pleasing to Alison to see the genuine appreciation that this woman was showing to Richard's efforts.
"There is just one other thing." She said, opening her purse as Richard carefully loaded the model into the cavernous boot of her car. Alison's ears pricked up at the comment. What was coming? Surely she wasn't going to quibble on the price?
"It's just that if I give this to Susie for her birthday tomorrow, her little brother, Joseph, is bound to want a model too. You know what children are like. Have you any ideas for boys?" As Alexandra asked the question wistfully, Alison breathed a sigh of relief.

I've never had the need," said Richard thoughtfully. "Our lad was always into plastic models when he was younger. Aeroplanes and spaceships hanging all over his bedroom ceiling, you know the type of thing. But I could have a go at a fort or a garage or something. Boys like those, don't they? How old is he?"
Alison knew Richard well enough to recognise that a design was already forming, even as they stood there at the kerbside. "Let me think about it, when would you need it by?" he asked.

The model garage, delivered in time for Christmas, was a great success. Apparently Joseph would play with nothing else all over the Christmas holidays, and it and the dolls' house that Richard had produced for Alexandra's granddaughter had been so much admired by the Christmas visitors that by the New Year, Richard and Alison were inundated with requests to consider building similar models.
At the same time, Graham their son, and his wife, announced that there would soon be a happy addition to their family.

The job rejections were becoming even rarer now as Summer took over from Spring; "This could be," Alison observed on one of her refreshment visits to the shed, "because you haven't applied for many jobs lately."

"I've been too busy," replied Richard. "It's difficult enough building these models, but they don't design themselves, you know.
And there's a crib to design and build for the new baby; our Emily-Jane will want one for her dolls if I know my little girl."

From the outset, Richard had insisted that each of his model buildings should be unique in their design and his efforts were already generating a steady income stream.
Smiling, Alison returned to the house with a spring in her step: she had her old Richard back. Bending to pick up a clutch of envelopes from the post on the mat, she glanced at a now familiar typewritten address. It read: To: Merry's Monumental Models.

[THE END]

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