Not. This. Year.

Amy was ready. After 24 years falling foul of every trick, prank and practical joke, Amy had finally had enough. Not. This. Year. In the past Amy had suffered greatly for the amusement of others, laxatives in her coffee, airhorn under her office chair, deodorant replaced with fart spray, she was the unfortunate victim of them all. She decided that this year the safest place for her to be on this perilous day, was in her room.

She had everything she needed, food, drinks, and entertainment. Other than the occasional dash across the hall to the bathroom, she had no reason to leave her room all day. The only hitch was that it was a Friday, and Amy had used up all her annual leave, so she had decided to take a well-planned sick day. All Amy needed to do was place a call to her manager that built from the foundations she had laid the day before. Starting Thursday morning, Amy had arrived to work fifteen minutes late. This allowed her the opportunity to apologise for her tardiness, and explain that she had to stop by the pharmacy on her way in to get some paracetamol. She had then tactically rubbed her forehead throughout the day, prompting colleagues to ask if she was Ok, to which she would respond ‘Mmmm, I think I’m coming down with something’ whilst looking convincingly forlorn. At lunchtime she had made a show of turning down the cakes and biscuits on offer in the staff room, blaming a lack of appetite. By late afternoon Amy had put the framework in place for her sympathetic manager to thoughtfully allow her to leave an hour early to ‘avoid the stress of rush hour and get home to rest up’.

Having made the necessary call, Amy had officially ‘pulled a sickie’. Which she realised was probably the closest she had ever come to playing an April fool’s joke. Safely tucked up in her hoax free hideaway, Amy revelled in her own cunning. With a boxset queued up ready to play on the TV, a pile of books she never had time to read and a wardrobe of unworn clothes that desperately needed sorting, Amy wondered what to do first. She also had some official looking unopened mail she’d grabbed out of the mailbox yesterday with the word ‘URGENT’ printed on it in big red letters. She thought maybe that was a sign. Amy tore open the seal and pulled out the letter, ‘Dear Ms. Fowler, we are writing to you with sad news of the passing of your great uncle Stanley. As executor of Mr. Fowler’s estate it is my duty to inform you of your uncle’s wishes to bestow the entirety of his assets to his youngest living relative, whom he believes will benefit most. Our research determined that the inheritance would fall to you as his great niece. We understand that losing a loved one is not easy, but in order to process the inheritance we will need to hear from you at your earliest convenience, though no later than April 1^st ‘, Amy was gobsmacked, she had never heard of a great uncle Stanley, but she was certainly not going to turn down his ‘assets’. Amy’s brain immediately began spending her late great uncle’s money, her greed working faster than her rationality. Suddenly Amy’s building excitement stalled. Wait. She was no fool, ‘April 1^st ‘ the letter said, she was being pranked. Wasn’t she? She grabbed her phone and typed the name of the solicitors into her search engine. The results pulled up a website for a local firm, that was real at least. Amy cursed herself for not opening the letter when it had arrived yesterday morning, she could have avoided all this doubt. She decided to stop wasting time and make the call. The phone rang briefly before being answered by a professional sounding receptionist. She very politely informed Amy that she would need to visit the office in person, to verify her identity before she could discuss any details. In person. That meant leaving her safe haven.

Amy decided this was an opportunity too good to miss out on for some stupid fear of April fool’s pranks. But she was still going to take every precaution she could, to defend herself from her ruthless housemates. She washed using baby wipes, in case the soap was rigged. She chewed gum instead of brushing her teeth, in case the toothpaste had been switched with garlic puree. She checked all of her pockets and her shoes for hidden surprises before she got dressed. She walked carefully through the house, opening doors slowly and looking out for trip wires. Then letter in hand, she stepped out of the house, on guard for potential tricksters.

The office building was in town, a short car ride away. But driving was far too risky. Whistle in the tail pipe, black ink on the steering wheel, tin cans tied to the bumper. She wasn’t going to fall for it. Not. This. Year.

As Amy strolled along the high street, she tried desperately to look as confident as possible. Any sign of weakness and she could be the next butt of a public joke. She pulled out her phone to try and look busy, but as she did it began vibrating in her hand causing her to nearly drop it. After quickly checking that it had not been switched for some fake device that would electrocute her, she saw that her manager was calling her. Amy was supposed to be sick as a dog, bed bound, not in the middle of a busy high street. She panicked, could she just avoid the call, pretend she was sleeping? What if she’d been seen? She quickly came up with a believable lie, “hello?” she rasped,  

“Amy, how are you feeling?” her manager said sweetly, Amy sensed this was more of a well being call than a ‘we know you pulled a sickie’ call,

“not good” she lied, “I’ve had to pop out to get some cough syrup”

“Ok, well”, her manager seemed hesitant, “I realise that this is not a great time, but I’m afraid I need to inform you that the company is letting you go”, Amy froze, how could that be, she was great at her job! Then it hit her, it was April 1^st , the girls in the office had realised she’d pulled a sickie and thought they’d get some revenge. “Ok Karen” she laughed, “I’ll see you Monday when I come to clear my desk”, Amy hung up the phone with a chuckle. Not. This. Year.

Amy marched on down the Highstreet in the direction of the solicitors office. It was still early, she had plenty of time, and she couldn’t ignore the rough dry feeling in her throat from faking a hoarse voice. Amy located the nearest paper shop and grabbed a bottle of water, avoiding eye contact with the group of kids crowding the self-checkout. There’s nothing more intimidating than a bunch of ten-year-olds, especially on April fool’s day. Amy opened the bottle as soon as she was out of the door, and guzzled down the first swig expecting a smooth hit of cool water, but instead the liquid fizzed in her mouth and had a sweet lemony flavour. Amy checked the bottle, ‘lemonade’. She sighed realising she’d picked up the wrong bottle, but she wasn’t going to go back now. The kids had gathered around the shop entrance and were kicking cans and spitting like a bunch of little thugs. Amy continued to drink and occupied herself by reading the label, the words ‘WIN A CAR’ were emblazoned across the front, ‘check your lid to see if you’ve won’. Amy obliged, checking the lid top and bottom. Just inside the cap, a word was printed in black ink along with a code, ‘WINNER!’. Amy’s eyes grew wide, she’d won! For the second time that day Amy’s mind wandered, she was suddenly cruising along the country lanes in her convertible enjoying the breeze in her hair. Then reality kicked in, this wasn’t the bottle she’d picked up. Amy was sure she’d picked up water, just straight, boring, plain water. She knew those little ruffians weren’t to be trusted, she looked back and saw them sniggering. Once again someone was having a laugh at her expense. Amy smiled to herself, she wasn’t going to fall for it. Not. This. Year. Amy downed the lemonade then wandered casually over to a nearby bin, she glanced at the lid again, theatrically shrugged her shoulders, replaced the cap on the bottle and tossed the whole lot into the bin. Strolling away feeling quite smug.     

Amy was only about ten minutes from the office, she put her head down and carried on, keen to avoid any unnecessary interactions. She glanced up every few steps to avoid knocking into people and noticed something on the ground ahead. A piece of paper that looked an awful lot like a bank note. As she got closer, she realised it had the purple hue of a twenty-pound note, it took everything she had not to pick it up. She wondered what the gag could be, was it stuck down with glue or maybe attached to a piece of string? What did it matter, she was not falling for it. Not. This. Year.

Amy couldn’t help but glance back to see if some other unfortunate soul had fallen for the trick. The patch of ground was now bare, and she noticed that there was a smartly dressed man rapidly approaching her, “excuse me, miss?” Amy looked around and saw she was the only person in the vicinity who qualified as a ‘miss’. “I think you dropped this”, the man thrust the twenty-pound note in her direction, ‘Oh!’ she thought. She looked across the street and saw a small group of men standing outside the betting shop, no doubt they had placed bets on whether she would fall for whatever this prank was meant to be. “It’s not mine” she told him, cool and calm, then began to walk away. He followed. “Oh, Ok, well maybe I can buy you a drink with it sometime?” he asked, seemingly trying to be suave but coming across quite awkward. Amy smiled and took a moment to look at him. He was just her type, tall, ruggedly handsome and offering to buy the drinks. ‘Any other day’ she thought, but not today. Not. This. Year. Amy made her excuses and left the man looking convincingly disappointed.

She was nearly there, the office was in sight. Approaching the large glass door, Amy felt a little out of place, the décor inside was what Amy would describe as ‘posh’, and she was anything but. As if she hadn’t endured enough, Amy almost pulled the door instead of pushing it, but caught herself in time to save that embarrassment. The lady at the reception desk looked up and greeted her with a familiar voice, “can I help you?”

“We spoke on the phone earlier” Amy said, “I got a letter”, she held it out in front of the woman’s face, who immediately looked confused. “That’s not our stationary”, the receptionist held out her own piece of paper, headed with the company name and logo, just like Amy’s, but at the same time, not at all like Amy’s. The paper looked somewhat more expensive, and the font much more elegant. Amy wasn’t sure what to make of it, or what to do. The receptionist kindly took the lead, “let me take a look at that and see if we can’t work out what’s going on” she said, taking the letter from Amy. After a few painful moments the receptionist made a noise that did not fill Amy with hope, “ah” she said, “I see”, she passed the letter back over to Amy. “When did you receive this letter?” she asked sweetly,

“Just yesterday” Amy told her, beginning to think she was too late, “I think it must have gotten lost in the mail, have you changed your stationary recently then?” she ventured,

“No”, the receptionist shook her head, “do you know what day it was yesterday?”

“Thursday” Amy said,

“and the date?” pushed the lady, who was now pointing at a large clock on the wall with the date helpfully displayed underneath it, “April second,” Amy said frowning, “It’s April second”.