Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

  “For Sale: baby bootees, never worn” Attributed to Ernest Hemingway, this ‘short story’ in six words always brings a sigh of sadness as we think of the poor parents who have lost a baby. But is this actually what it’s all about? Since the story is so vague, there are lots of other interpretations. Imagine two sets of grandparents, each determined to outdo the other. Each buy baby bootees. One chooses blue, the other chooses pink. Baby finally arrives and is … well, you can see what might happen. ‘ No, Douglas, we must be first with the bootees.’ ‘ But why pink ones, Mary? What if it’s –’ ‘ Our Sally is craving sweet things all the time and she’s carrying high. It will be a girl.’ ‘ Tom’s mother thinks –’ ‘ She has no idea what she’s talking about. She only has one child. I have had three! We will have a grandaughter, there’s no doubt about that.’ And so the bootees have to go, before Sally, Tom – and worst of all, his parents – find out the...

June 1987. The Grand Hotel, Margitsziget, Budapest.   James Fincham strode into the lobby and walked straight to the reception desk, mopping his brow with his handkerchief.   He set his brown leather holdall on the floor beside him.   The desk clerk looked up.    “Szervusz, Mr Leadbetter.   Good to see you. How can I help you?”   James replied in flawless Hungarian.    “Good morning, Ambrus.   Please can you tell me if Miss Fodor is in her room.”    “No, I believe she is in the lounge, sir.”    “Thank you, Ambrus.”   James ran his hand through his hair and walked over to the lounge area, towards a woman seated on an oversized sofa.   As soon as she saw him walking towards her, she leapt up and moved towards him.    “Henry, you’re late, darling. I feel as though I’ve been waiting for hours.”    “I’m only five minutes late, Martuska.   Come here.”   H...