Beefy

They called him Beefy. Nobody knew why. He wasn’t beefy at all... but his reputation was. Beefy was the village young thug. My children gave him a wide berth and never ‘crossed’ him.

Beefy had recently ‘done time’ for some misdemeanour, but the word was that he was out. Back in the village.

Driving home along narrow country lanes, I spotted a young fellow walking purposefully. He was heading home. I stopped and offered him a lift. Beefy was surprisingly friendly and grateful.

Telling the tale to my daughter, she replied calmly.

“At least he won’t smash up your car!”