In this B1-level podcast today, I'll also discuss 6 interesting intermediate B1-level words, which you can listen for while you listen to the short story.
lack of something - not enough of something
get rid of somebody - tell somebody to leave
out of work - to have lost your job
try your best - do a task the best way you can
stay behind - to wait after others have left
consist of something - talks about the parts of something
The trouble with only having eight hours to live, is that you can do very little in that amount of time. This had been Nigel's first thought, anyway. What if it had been eight days, eight months, or even eight years? It was easy to waste time, whether we have a lot or very little of it. Perhaps, what was more important, was not to use time carelessly – to take advantage of every moment we have.
Nigel found himself walking the way to work. He had always loved this route. He had believed it to be the start and end of his working day. In fact, it had been part of the working day. The walk included the path by the river, which changed with the seasons and with the weather. The long branches from the trees that hung over the smooth blue water; their leaves blowing gently in a light summer breeze. Autumn leaves in golds, reds and browns, dancing over the water. The rough wind screaming over the dark grey waves in winter.
Today, however, the sun was shining. The weather was cool for this time of year, but the April flowers were appearing in places in the bright green grass along the riverside. A good day to die, thought Nigel.
He finally arrived at his place of work; an office building, from which there were views of the river.
Nigel stayed outside, however. He would not… could not return to where he had worked since he was sixteen years old. What was that? Nearly thirty years of his life!
He used to be happy there. He joined the company as a teenager as a delivery boy – running from one office to another with papers and parcels for the various departments. These were the days when it used to be quicker to deliver papers by hand, rather than make copies to send by email.
Nigel had then been promoted to junior clerk* in the accounts department. As he had left school early, he had no formal training, but he was good at figures.
In his late teens, he had studied for a degree over a number of years at night school, and he had finally passed and became a qualified accountant.
Nigel was a very keen on his job and keen to improve in every way. He always tried his best. His job was his life, and his life was his job. As a single man, he preferred it that way. You might say he married into his work, because he had no partner or children.
The trouble was, if your life consists of just one activity, just one love, what happens if you lose that? If there is a lack of hobbies, interests, relationships in your life, where do you go next if you lose the one thing of importance? Unfortunately, that happened to Nigel. He lost his only love – his job.
It had all started one evening at close of business, the manager called him into his office. Nigel had wondered what it could be about. It was very rare to be asked to stay behind after working hours. What happened next completely destroyed Nigel. Management believed he had stolen money from the company. Not a huge amount – a few thousand pounds. They showed him the accounts – the accounts Nigel had written. It was very clear somebody had changed them in the computer, Nigel thought. How? Nigel had no idea! What he knew, of course, was that he had not stolen one penny from the company. Nigel could not prove it had been somebody else. The company took Nigel to court, there was a trial, and Nigel lost. The company got rid of him, despite twenty-five years of long service. Nigel was out of work.
Nigel stood on the other side of the road, and looked across to the office entrance on the other side. He could see Daphne Gray, the receptionist, behind the reception desk. She was talking to somebody. Nigel recognised him to be Charlie Basset from the fourth floor. Nigel looked up at the windows above. He could see some other employees. He knew them all. Nigel wished he could go back, be accepted again, have his life back again. But that could never happen. Nigel's life was over.
Nigel turned and walked towards his favourite restaurant. He sat alone at a table and ordered the salmon, which he had always wanted to choose on earlier visits, but thought it too expensive. The restaurant was nearly empty. The employees from his previous job usually came here, but it was too early in the day. Nigel tried to enjoy his lunch, because that is what it had said on the box – to try to enjoy his eight final hours of his life by concentrating on small details: the flavours of the food, the colours, the look, the enjoyment of eating, the soft music in the restaurant.
After lunch, Nigel went to see his best friend – another piece of advice he had read on the box.
Martin Mansfield was a doctor. He owned a surgery not far from the centre of town. Nigel had known Martin because of his heart problem. Nigel had had heart problems from an early age, and was at risk of a serious heart attack if it was not treated properly. Therefore, his visits to the doctor's surgery were frequent. Dr Mansfield was also single and about Nigel's age. They sometimes had a tea together in the cafeteria next to the surgery.
'Well, well, well!' said Martin, and he stood up from behind his desk smiling and shook Nigel's hand.
'Good to see you again, Nigel! Is this a social visit? I see you don't have an appointment. What about having a tea? It's a quiet afternoon. I don't have another patient until five. But if you like, I'll give your heart a quick check up before we leave…'
**************** music
It was Friday morning. The body had been taken away, and the ambulance staff and police had left. Nigel's body had been discovered by his cleaner, Miss Hatterley, who came to clean twice a week, and had the key to the front door. Miss Hatterley had immediately called an ambulance and the police. Dr Mansfield was also informed, and he arrived before the ambulance, and signed Nigel's death certificate.
Dr Mansfield was now sitting on Nigel's bed, looking curiously at some instructions on a small box that he had just picked up from Nigel's bedside table. The box had been lying next to a saucer with the remains of a burnt candle on it. Only he and Miss Hatterley were left in the flat. She was cleaning the apartment, which the doctor thought was rather a strange thing to do now Nigel had gone.
'Miss Hatterley, would you come here a moment, please?' called the doctor.
She entered the bedroom with a bottle of bath cleaner in her hand. She was probably about fifty, the lines on her face showing the worry she was feeling.
'Please, sit down. I know the police have already asked you, but I have a couple more questions I'd like to ask.'
Miss Hatterley sat on one of the two armchairs in the bedroom.
'Miss Hatterley,' continued the doctor. 'You told the police that you knew that Nigel had lost his job. Nigel came to see me at my surgery yesterday, but he said nothing about it. Why did he tell you?'
'He told me because he said he couldn't pay me after this month. He couldn't afford it, he said.'
'I see,' said the doctor. 'I see...' The doctor lifted the box he was holding. 'Have you seen this box before? You must notice everything in the apartment, as you clean here twice a week.'
Miss Hatterley looked carefully. 'No, I've never seen it before. What is it?'
'I just found it here. It contained this candle – now burnt out,' answered the doctor. 'I've been reading what's written here on the side of the box.' He read the text aloud.
'The Candle of Hope.
When you are depressed, and life seems to have no meaning,
light this candle at the beginning of a new day.
You must imagine that you will die in eight hours.
That's the number of hours this candle will burn.
When the candle finishes, believe your life will finish too.
Now live your day as though you had eight hours to live.
Enjoy every moment, the little things in life – a good meal,
a walk in the countryside, a visit to your best friend.
Do the little things that make you happy.
You will discover how beautiful life is, and you will no longer be depressed.
But you must believe you will die, so the candle can give you hope to live.'
The doctor put the box down. 'I've never seen anything like this before. It says here “made in Tibet”. Nigel must have bought it on the Internet.
'Well, Nigel came to see me yesterday afternoon. He didn't tell me anything about losing his job. I didn't know. We even had a tea together and told some jokes. But he was just following the instructions on this box. I see that now. I was Nigel's best friend.
'Nigel had a weak heart, but there was nothing wrong with him yesterday. I even gave him a check-up in my surgery.
'On the death certificate, I wrote that Nigel died from a heart attack, which is true. But it happened at about five o'clock yesterday afternoon. He must have lit the candle in the morning, then he went home after having visited me. He saw the candle go out at about five o'clock – and he died.
'Nigel believed in this too much. He made himself believe these instructions on the box. There was nothing wrong with his health. He died because he made himself believe he was going to die. The power of suggestion.'
Miss Hatterley took out her handkerchief and began to cry. Dr Mansfield stood up in silence and put on his coat. His mind dark with thoughts. He left the flat, and walked down the street towards the surgery. As he looked up at the clear blue sky above, he suddenly thought how beautiful the world looked in the spring sunshine.
lack of something
If there is a lack of hobbies, interests, relationships on your life, where do you go next if you lose the one thing of importance in your life?
get rid of somebody
The company got rid of Nigel, despite twenty-five years of long service.
out of work
Nigel was out of work.
try your best
Nigel was a very keen on his job and keen to improve in every way. He always tried his best. His job was his life, and his life was his job.
stay behind
It was very rare to be asked to stay behind after working hours.
consist of sth
The trouble was, if your life consists of just one activity, just one love, what happens if you lose that?
Copyright © 2024 Practising English
All rights reserved
