Mrs Peterson has an offer

You’re just thinking about dinner when the doorbell rings. It’s Mrs Peterson.

“Hello, Mr Smith, I was wondering, do you need any tools? I know your father used to borrow Henry’s when he needed to do any DIY. Unfortunately Henry’s not going to be using them anymore, so I wondered whether you wanted them.”

You hadn’t even thought about that kind of thing. “Well, maybe.”

“Do you want to see them?”

Yes, you might as well look at them. You follow her next door. Greet Mr Peterson, who’s sitting in the lounge, watching the football results. Then she leads you upstairs. The room she takes you to is filled with junk, a bed covered by an old CRT television, a couple of CRT computer monitors sitting next to it. Propped in one corner is a workbench, around which are boxes filled with power tools (saws, drills, a sander, a power washer) and on top of which is a large case that rattles with nails, screws, bolts and all the metal paraphernalia needed. Off to one side is a large metal filing cabinet looking the worse for wear.

“Sorry for the mess,” Mrs Peterson needlessly says. “Our spare room has been used to store all the junk for the last few years. Though, hopefully we’ll be needing it soon as a bedroom. I think I’ve convinced my son to let our eldest granddaughter come and visit.”

“She’s coming over from Japan?”

“Yes, hopefully. Our son has agreed to it in principle. It’s just a matter of sorting out when. And sorting out this room. I started, then I saw the tools and thought of you. They’re old. Which means we can’t sell them, everything nowadays is so much lighter and safer. If you don’t take them, then we’ll end up throwing them out.”

You might as well take them. They’ll probably just be filling a spare room in your house, but it’s easier for you to take them down the dump if they get in the way. You have a car after all. Which does lead to the question.

“How are you getting rid of the rest of this junk?”

“We’ll have to hire someone to pick it up and take it down the dump,” Mrs Peterson admits.

“I could take some of it. I can’t take that,” you point to the metal filing cabinet. “It won’t fit in my car. You’d need at least an estate to take that. But I could fit the monitors in my boot, and possibly the tele. Let me take these tools over and see what I can do.”

You start with the toolbox and one of the power tools. Take them to your place, stack them in the hallway. Then go back for more. The workbench is the hardest, but it’s just awkward more than heavy. Then you look at the other junk. The monitors are straightforward. You can carry them to the car, and they fit in the boot easily.

While you’re carrying the first down the stairs, Mrs Peterson is thinking. “I know someone who has an estate. They might be able to help,” she tells you. When you come to pick up the second, she’s missing. After you’ve loaded the boot and shut it, you find her standing at the end of your drive with two other people.