'Things that were left in the Jackson’s skip' by Edward Barnfield

The skip had been outside the Jackson’s for barely a day before neighbours began to take advantage. By Tuesday morning, along with the assorted garden refuse and cracked paving it had been hired for, the yellow trapezoid contained an errant set of golf clubs; a George Foreman Grill streaked with bacon grease; and a year’s collection of ‘Miniature Donkey’ magazine, complete with annual pull-out calendar.

Mr. Jackson, pragmatist and peacemaker, was unruffled by these intrusions. He had specifically chosen the 8-yard builders’ skip because he knew it would be able to accommodate any unexpected extras. Mrs. Jackson, recently retired and hungry for distraction, took a much dimmer view.

She set up station behind the net curtains and staked out the metal bin. Mr. Jackson would bring tea throughout the day and would sigh into his crossword when he heard her bang on the window or shout at the locals. Once, he even found her braying out of the open front door, and saw Mr. Shuttlecock retreating, shamefaced, with a bundle of publications under his arm.

On Sunday, they woke to find an adult Galapagos tortoise roaming the skip. The creature, which resembled an armour-plated footstool in both temperament and dimension, was chewing amiably on some grass cuttings and eyeing the discarded grill with amorous intent. Mrs. Jackson spent an anxious morning phoning round to find the relevant authorities who could deal with such a problem, only to discover her local council was shockingly short of turtle-management resource.

Mr. Jackson smiled. He was certain that the animal’s presence would prevent any further unauthorised use of the skip, which would, in turn, soothe his wife’s rancour. He settled down with a copy of ‘Miniature Donkey’ and began thinking of testudinate names.