Harry had a lot to drink at the dinner-dance and he wasn�t feeling too well on the following day. Barbara asked him if he had taken anything for his headache and he said, �Oh no, my head deserves pain. It nearly got me into a lot of trouble last night.�

�What happened?�

�I was talking to the Mayor�s wife and we had both consumed a fair amount of alcohol at that stage. I was telling her about the time I got my head stuck in a piano, and she asked me if my head recovered, and I said I had to put my head in ice for a while. Then before I knew what was happening she was asking me if my head would like to accompany her hands to the car park.�

�What did you say?�

�My head said �yes�, but my heart said �no�. Thankfully my mouth said �chewing-gum.� I was chewing gum at the time. That seemed to confuse her. It bought me a little time. Then the Mayor came along and I was able to make a quick exit.�

�That was a bit of a close call alright. Do you think you�ll be okay to face the accountant later on?�

�Accountant?� Roy said, looking up from the newspaper he was reading.

�Yeah, she�s coming around this evening,� Harry said. �She wants to talk to us about our financial situation.�

Roy folded the newspaper and said, �Okay, I�ll be hiding under the stairs.�

�Under the stairs? Why?�

�I don�t want to be bothering myself with all that financial stuff. I�ll be fine under the stairs.�

�This is your business as much as it is mine. You should be aware of our finances.�

�I�ll leave it to you. I�m better off not knowing about it, under the stairs. Just knock on the door in a few hours when she�s gone.�

�Alright then. See ya in a few hours.�

Roy left the shop to go under the stairs.

�So how come the Mayor�s wife was so interested in you?� Barbara said.

�I said I liked her short stories.�

�Ah.�

�I�m blaming my mouth for saying that. My brain and my heart were saying something else entirely.�

Mrs. Pony�s short stories have won a huge amount of critical acclaim over the years, and a huge public following, even though they�re not to everyone�s taste. She�s written hundreds of stories, and there�s a smiling lamb in each one. After the first twenty smiling lamb stories, some people believed that there must be a hidden meaning behind the lamb because they found it very difficult to believe that she�d put the smiling lamb in the stories for its own sake - surely she couldn�t be that bad a writer. She had a pet lamb herself, and in an interview at her home, she said to a journalist, �Look at the way he�s smiling at you.� The journalist took it as a tongue in cheek remark.

Some have suggested that the smiling lamb is the lamb of God, but God appeared in one of her stories, and it was clear that he didn�t own the lamb. He owned a parrot that sat on his shoulder and a Rubik�s Cube that he worked out in seconds, but he�d clearly never met the lamb before. She once claimed that this wasn�t fiction. Over the years, every interviewer has been introduced to her pet lamb. One of them asked why she still had a lamb � what happens to the lambs when they become sheep? But Mrs. Pony just smiled and said, �He�s saying hello to you now. Hell-oh.�

Later that evening, Harry and Barbara sat at the table in the living room with the accountant, Rachel. �I�m afraid it�s not looking good,� she said. �You�re going to have to reduce some of your expenses. I recommend laying off staff.�

�But we can�t get rid of Barbara,� Harry said. �We�d be lost without her.�

�No, I wasn�t talking about Barbara. I was referring to the painters.�

�What painters?�

�The painters!� Barbara said. �Vincent and Charles. I�d completely forgotten about them.� She stood up and went to the window overlooking the back garden. �They must be still working away in the shed at the end of the garden.�

�Are you saying we have painters working in the shed, and I never even knew this?� Harry said.

�Your uncle hired them back in the 70s, and they�ve been working there ever since.�

�I�ve never gone into that shed. When I was young my uncle told me that someone was killed in there once.�

�That�s right,� Barbara said. �You�re uncle was killed there. Well, �killed� is probably too strong a word. His heart stopped beating; he was clinically dead for a while. He had hired the painters to paint the inside of the shed. They were there a week when one day your uncle was walking under a ladder in the shed and a piano fell on his head.�

�That�s why it�s bad luck to walk under ladders,� Harry said. �Things are more likely to fall on your head.�

�The painters got him to hospital within minutes. They used the ladder as a stretcher and ran as fast as they could. That probably saved his life. Your uncle was so grateful he promised them a job for life.�

�I�ll assume he meant his life,� Harry said. �So they�ve been painting the shed ever since?�

�Yeah. I had completely forgotten about them.�

�Who�s been paying their wages?�

The accountant explained the situation to Harry. �Their wages are paid directly into their bank accounts. Your uncle instructed my predecessor to take care of it. The amount was linked to inflation, and with all the overtime they do, they�ve made a small fortune over the years, painting that shed.�

�Well not anymore. It�ll be easy firing people I don�t know. I know how to handle it, I�ve been fired plenty of times by people I�ve never even seen before, not to mention all the times I�ve been fired by people I know, or friends and family members. Roy tells a great story about how he got us both fired by a Chinese judge when we were only working on a fish farm in Dingle. It�s going to be a lot easier to go into that shed too, now that I know that the man who was killed there survived.�

�It�s not going to be as easy as you think,� Barbara said. �There�s something you should know about these painters. Being cooped up in that shed all these years has made them a little bit odd. The constant paint fumes probably hasn�t helped either. If you want to say something to them, they�ll only understand it if you explain it in terms of Suzi Quatro.�

�Suzi Quatro? What do you mean?�

�It�s difficult to explain exactly. You�ll only really see what I mean when you start talking to them.�

On the following morning, Harry walked through the overgrown grass to the shed at the end of the garden for the first time. It was a big shed, but it was mostly filled with old brushes, and empty paint cans stacked on top of each other or on shelves. The loft was the same. Only Vincent and Charles could find their way through the maze of paint cans. Near the door there was a little clear space with a table and two chairs. No one, apart from the painters, had been beyond the table in the past two decades, and no one ever saw what they were painting. They got bored painting the same colour over and over again back in 1982, so they started painting murals depicting their lives. But they got bored painting the same thing over and over again, so they brought other characters into their murals - people like Suzi Quatro, or Suzi Quatro�s band.

When Harry went into the shed he couldn�t see where Vincent and Charles were working. He said �Hello� to attract their attention. They stopped work and made their way through the maze to where Harry was standing. When they saw him they just stood there and looked at him without saying a word.

�Hello there. My name is Harry. My uncle used to own the shop. But he�s dead now� I don�t know if ye knew that� Don�t worry, I�m not blaming either of ye. I know ye did all ye could to save him.� The painters just stared silently at Harry. �Okay. I�m here because I have a little news. It�s not good news, I�m afraid. I�m grateful for the many years of service both of ye have put in, but due to financial necessities, I�m going to have to let ye go.�

Vincent and Charles continued staring at Harry, then looked at each other, and then back at Harry. Vincent said, �Suzi Quatro is what now?�

�No. I know this might be hard to take in, but the bottom line is, I�m firing both of ye.�

They looked at each other, and then turned again to Harry. �And is she okay now?� Vincent said.

�Right, I think I know how to handle this,� Harry said as he looked around the room. He picked up an empty paint can. �Imagine that this empty paint can is Suzi Quatro. And, ah, this bottle of white spirits is... ah, a bottle... of white spirits...�

An hour later, Harry was holding a paint can and a puppy.

Vincent was saying, �So basically... what you�re saying is... Suzi Quatro is coming to visit us?�

Harry thought about this for a while before saying, �Yes.�

The painters looked at each other and then back at Harry. �That�s nice,� Vincent said.

In the living room, Harry explained to Barbara what had happened in the shed.

�Why did you let them think that Suzi Quatro is coming to see them?� Barbara said.

�I was trying to explain the situation to them, but somehow, I inadvertently explained that Suzi Quatro was jumping the Grand Canyon on a pig, and then I accidentally explained that Suzi Quatro was giving up singing and taking up shark training. Then I somehow managed to explain that Suzi Quatro was lost in Afghanistan with The Eagles. My explanations seemed to be getting worse all the time and they were becoming more upset. Then I explained to them that Suzi Quatro was coming to visit them. I�m not sure how I explained that, but I did, and they seemed much happier with that, so I thought I better leave well enough alone.�

As they sat there trying to figure out what to do now, Barbara suddenly remembered Roy. �Roy isn�t still under the stairs, is he?� she said.

�I think he is,� Harry said. He looked at his watch. �He must be in there for� how long?� three days?�

�Yeah, it was Monday when the accountant was here.�

Harry opened the door that led under the stairs and said, �Roy, are you there?�

�Harry, how are you?� Roy said from inside.

�You can come out now; the accountant is gone.�

�No thanks. I�m fine here.�

�What do you mean you�re fine here?�

�I think I�ll stay on.�

�Under the stairs?�

�Yeah, I have a new life here. Incidentally, here�s my new wife. Nancy, this is my brother Harry. Harry, this is my wife, Nancy.�

�Ah, hello,� Harry said.

�It�s great to meet you. Roy has told me so much about you.�

�Right. It�s nice to meet you too.� The only light was the light from the hall outside. Harry could barely see Nancy, which was barely more than Roy could see of her, but just enough to notice something that Roy was yet to realise. �Roy, this might not be the best time to bring this up, but I can�t help noticing a bit of an age gap.�

�Age doesn�t matter when you�ve found true love,� Roy said. �Nancy and I are going to spend the rest of our lives together under the stairs.�

�Right. Okay,� Harry said. �Y� know what, Roy, I think I�ll just turn on the light here for a minute.�

Harry turned on the light under the stairs.

�Jesus Christ!� Roy shouted, and then ran out from under the stairs. He slammed the door behind him. �She�s old enough to be Abraham Lincoln!�

The shock started to fade about an hour later, and when Roy felt ready to talk about it, Barbara asked him how he had got married under the stairs.

�I don�t know,� he said. �It all happened so quickly. Our eyes met in the near-darkness. One thing led to another, and when she told me she might be pregnant it seemed like the natural thing to do. I didn�t know she was that old. What am I going to do?�

�You�ll just have to get a divorce,� Harry said.

�Yeah. I just hope she agrees to it. She can�t have been too happy with the way I walked out on her.� The thought of settling down distressed Roy more than who he would be settling down with, or where. He valued his freedom to spend most of his time confined to the house, in front of the TV. He was worried about the situation, but Harry and Barbara promised to help break up his marriage, and that eased his mind a bit. Harry said he�d talk to Nancy and try to sort it out.

Harry�s plan to sort it out was to tell Nancy that Roy had just been to the doctor and it turns out he only has forty years to live, and he wants to spend the last few years of his life watching Britney Spears. Roy thought it was a good idea, and it wasn�t all that far from the truth.

Harry opened the door and went into the darkness, into the smell of mothballs. Barbara and Roy sat on wooden chairs at either side of the door; staring at the bare floorboards to pass the time; at the nails in the floorboards, shiny from years of wear. This floor connected the living room to the kitchen. Every day for nearly eighty years people had walked on or fell on these floorboards, or stared at the nails to pass the time. Barbara and Roy continued the tradition of staring, but they only had to wait ten seconds before the door opened and Harry continued another tradition when he fell out onto the bare floorboards. As he lay on the floor, a flowerpot was thrown at his head from under the stairs. Nancy was still too upset to talk, and she was blaming Harry for breaking up the marriage.

As Harry recovered from the blow to his head in the living room, he heard voices coming from outside. He went to the window overlooking the back garden and saw a crowd protesting outside the shed. They were holding placards that said, �No more job cuts.� Barbara joined Harry at the window and she recognised some of the protestors - they were relatives of Vincent and Charles. Barbara explained to Harry that the relatives must be upset about the job losses because they had been living off the painter�s wages for the past few decades.

Neither Barbara nor Harry could figure out how the relatives found out about the job cuts. The painters themselves didn�t know that they had lost their jobs. Down in the shed, Vincent and Charles were looking out at the protest.

�What are those people doing out there?� Charles said.

�I don�t know. Probably waiting for Suzi Quatro,� Vincent said.

�What do the placards say?�

�I don�t know. Something about Suzi Quatro.�

Harry and Barbara had another meeting with Rachel, the accountant. She had spoken to the families and had reached an agreement with them. Vincent and Charles would keep their jobs but their wages would be cut by 15% and the amount of overtime would be limited. The only obstacle now was Vincent and Charles themselves. They had to sign new contracts and someone needed to explain the situation to them in a way they�d understand.

�I�ll have a go at explaining it to them,� Barbara said. �I have a knack with languages; maybe I can decipher their �Suzi Quatro� language. I once worked in the kitchen of that restaurant next to the town hall. A lot of the local politicians eat there. They have a language of their own too, and I was able to decipher that.�

�Really?� Harry said. �I always thought they spoke English.�

�No. It bears a resemblance to English. You might think they�re speaking English but if you listen very closely you�ll realise they�re speaking their own language. They hear words in English differently to us. They hear the word �idiot� as �We would like to thank you for yet another valuable and intelligent contribution to the debate.� For most long words they just hear the theme tune to �The A-team.� The word �yes� translates as �We will be issuing a statement on this matter shortly,� and �no� is �I�m not aware of any statement issued to that effect.� The only way you�ll ever really communicate with them is to talk to them in their own language.�

�How would you translate something like, �What are you doing about the homeless situation?� into their language?�

�There isn�t really a direct translation for that. There�s no word for �homeless� in their language, but there are fifty-seven different words for �publicity.� If you wanted to say, �Kids� TV is actually very informative� in their language, you�d say, �We recognise fully that the situation needs urgent action and we are in the process of forming a committee to look into the matter.� Or when they say, �I reject those comments from the opposition and I would point to my party�s unrivalled record in this area,� they�re really saying, �Those shoes don�t go with that jacket at all.��

�If you can figure out that language, you�re better qualified than anyone to decipher the painter�s language.�

�There was another language I learnt in that restaurant too. All of the staff talked in rhyming slang that didn�t rhyme, and I was able to pick that up just by listening to them.�

As Barbara and Harry met with the accountant, over in the kitchen of the restaurant, Frank was talking to Judy. �My rush-islands are lost without the slim-Hemmings,� he said. The translation of this is: �My feet are sore.�

�Really?� Judy said. �My rush-islands are in with the old Bride Allens.�

Translation: �My daughters have gone back to college.�

Frank: �I thought I saw the Bride Allens over at the day-Janies.�

Translation: �Oh I do hope it snows this Christmas.�

Judy: �Ah yes, you can�t beat the old Bride Allens for the memory Paddy Merling songs.�

Translation: �I don�t wish to alarm you, but there�s a strange spider on your neck.�