‘Bloody fool,’ Simon yelled. Stopping he swung round and took hold of Doreen’s arm. ‘That bloody halfwit dropped a pallet of flour. Every bloody bag burst open. It was like a sodding avalanche. Can you believe it?’ he snapped, releasing his grip on her arm.
Trying to imagine the pantomime that had taken place, Doreen remained mute and simply nodded in agreement.
‘Good God, the place looks like Santa Clause’s bloody grotto,’ Simon continued, his agitation growing with every word he growled. There was no doubt about it, the place was a mess and, as funny as Doreen saw the situation, she knew she would be expected to do the lion’s share of cleaning up.
‘Right, now that you’re here, I’ll leave you to get it sorted; as you can imagine, we’ve a shed load of orders to get out, so I’ll leave you to do what you can,’ Simon said stomping off towards a small office at the far side of the warehouse, where he slammed the door once inside, creating another dust cloud.
Doreen tutted as she turned round taking in the mess. It would take more than a mop and bucket to sort this lot out, she thought, and wondered if he really expected her to clean all of it.
It was coming up to one o’clock and Doreen had not stopped since she had arrived. Normally she would have left just after midday, but Simon had asked her to do an extra hour, ‘I’ll make sure you’re paid,’ he had said, though Doreen hadn’t noted any conviction in his voice, but had agreed to stay. Now, as she slipped on her jacket, she was satisfied she had done as much as was possible in the last three and a half hours. Copious amounts of water and mopping had got the place, more or less, under control.
Heading out of the building, Simon called after her. ‘Thanks, Dor, you’ve done a bloody good job. Have a nice weekend.’
She turned at the sound of his voice and saw he was already heading back to his little office. ‘Blimey, wonders will never cease,’ she said loudly. She couldn’t remember the last time he had ever said thank you. She just hoped he made sure she got paid for the extra hour, she thought heading down the road and the walk to her next job.
What a day so far, a thank you from Simon Gilder and better still, another job. She hadn’t even had to go searching or having to ask for it. It seemed, after all, there were some lucky stars out there. They say it comes in threes, who knows what little surprise she might get before the end of the day, she mused, increasing her pace.
Chapter Five
With her three cleans finished for the week and her pay packet safely in her possession, Doreen headed to Mr Greedy’s. Not only did she need to pay off her slate, but also to buy the bits needed to make a chocolate birthday cake. She smiled as she imagined the look on old Jack’s face when she turned up on his doorstep with a homemade sponge. The toothless old geezer would probably suck the cake, having no teeth these days. ‘Urgh,’ she cried, and wished she hadn’t gone down such a disgusting road. Trying to push the image of her neighbour’s face out of her mind, Doreen nudged open the door to Mr Greedy’s shop. Hearing the bell tinkle above her head, she decided, as it was pay day, not only would she buy chocolate for the cakes, but would treat herself; a little celebration was in order because it wasn’t everyday she had some good luck.
‘Good afternoon to you, Doreen. If I am not mistaken it must be Friday,’ Mr Greedy called. ‘And why do I know this, you might ask yourself? No need to answer, I will tell you. For you to grace my shop twice in one day, you must be throwing a party or looking to square up your bill,’ Mr Greedy added, rubbing his hands together as if he was Scrooge himself.
Doreen sniffed; blimey, the old skinflint thinks himself a comedian, she thought and, smirking at his words, she approached the counter. Mr Greedy’s face lit up as she stood in front of him.
‘I hope you have had a good day so far,’ he said and reached to the left of the counter and picked up a dark blue A4-sized note book. Placing the well-worn book in front of him, he slipped on a pair of glasses that hung round his neck on a chain. Peering through the thick lenses, he thumbed through the pages. ‘Here we are,’ he announced stopping half way in the book and placed his index finger in the centre of the page. Looking over his glasses, he smiled up at Doreen.
Doreen watched with amusement as the preciseness of the shop keeper’s actions. It was the same every week. Poor sod, she thought, his life was as sad as her own. They both needed to get out more.
‘Right,’ she said, ‘you see, I’m here for two reasons. First you’ll be wanting my pay packet and, secondly, should you leave me anything left, I’ll be wanting a couple of things.’
A hurt flashed across Mr Greedy’s face, ‘You make me sound like Scrooge,’ Mr Greedy said tutting, the earlier smile slipping.
If the hat fits and all that, Doreen thought, the words teetering on her lips, but thought better of it. She couldn’t afford to upset him more than normal. ‘OK let’s get the money business over with first,’ she said opening her purse where her week’s wages had been stuffed.
‘Let me see,’ he said running his finger down the page he had left open. ‘Looks like you’ve had an unusually lean week,’ he said, disappointment lacing his words. ‘I’ll never be able to go out for dinner at this rate,’ he said then, looking up, told her the figure she owed him. It was still too much, she thought, despite trying to cut down. In truth, she’d had to catch up on her rent having let it slip and being threatened to pay up or action would be taken. The bleeding council were never off her back. Of course she missed paying some weeks, sadly her finances wouldn’t stretch far enough and too often it was the case of rob Paul to pay Peter. Except it was more robbing than paying. Plucking a handful of notes from her purse, she handed them over then gazed back into her purse. A week of flogging herself to death and her purse was almost empty again.
‘Thank you, Doreen. Now, what can I get you, and as you’ve paid up promptly this week, you can add your purchases to your slate for next week,’ Mr Greedy said benevolently.
Doreen rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll take a half bottle of gin and I need a bar of your best cake brand chocolate,’ she said not moving from where she stood.
‘It’s over there,’ he said pointing to a shelf behind Doreen, ‘next to the teabags.’
‘Right, next to the teabags,’ she said. Of course that is where chocolate would be, next to the teabags! She turned to where Mr Greedy had indicated and wondered what went through his head when he laid out his shelves because there was no way he would end up with an empire like Tesco with his shelving logic. She picked up a large bar and looked for the sell-by-date, if there was one, she could not see it. Shrugging she asked herself why was she looking, it would make no difference: he would still insist it was perfect. Moving to the end of the row, she picked up a half bottle of gin then turned back to the counter.
Placing her goodies on the counter, Mr Greedy glared at the bar of chocolate. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to eat that, it’s for cake toppings.’
‘Of course it’s going to be eaten, but from the top of the cake,’ she said.
‘I’ve never seen you as a chef,’ Mr Greedy said, turning to a new page in his book and writing down the two items.
‘Right, well, as it’s Jack Sparrow’s birthday,’ Sparrow was not his real name, it was Bird, but everyone knew him as Jack Sparrow, ‘I’m going make the old boy a cake to go with the card I bought here this morning.’
‘Is that so,’ Mr Greedy said his hard features softening. ‘Next to you, he’s my best customer,’ he added. Then looking down at his book he scribbled a line through one of the items. ‘Tell Jack the cake’s from me, too, as I’ve struck out the chocolate from your slate.’ He pushed the chocolate bar towards Doreen. ‘Only the gin is on your slate so far,’ he added.
Gobsmacked, ‘Really,’ Doreen said and picked up the chocolate bar and the bottle. Never could she remember the shop keeper giving anything away. She had always thought of him as Mr Greedy and until then had good reason to, but at this moment, she saw a different side of him. ‘Thanks, I wi
ll,’ she said not sure she could trust herself to say anything else. She pushed the items into her bag and with a finger wave, turned and left the shop.
Climbing the staircase to her flat in Wentworth House, all Doreen could think of was what a day it had been. Bizarre hardly covered it and the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if she had imagined it all. Another job, a thank you from Simon Gilder and Mr Greedy giving her something for free! Blimey, where would it all end? ‘Who knows what will happen next,’ she mumbled as she reached her door. Slipping the key into her lock, she checked next door and noted the balloon had gone, hopefully taken in and not burst by one of the local thugs. Not wanting to go down that road of senseless behaviour, she pushed her door open.
Chapter Six
With a flourish of the palette knife, Doreen smoothed the melted chocolate on top of the second cake. ‘Perfect,’ she said holding the flat knife above the cakes. The two sponges sat side by side on the cooling rack.
‘That not only smells good, it looks yummy,’ Trisha cooed suddenly appearing at Doreen’s side.
‘Blimey, where did you spring from?’ Doreen cried almost knocking one of the cakes from the rack from the surprise of Trisha appearing over her shoulder.
Ignoring Doreen’s squeals, Trisha reached round her mother and dipped her finger into the soft, warm chocolate.
‘Get your mucky paws out,’ Doreen screamed, pushing her daughter out of the way. ‘Grief, one minute you’re creeping up on me and next you’re spoiling my cakes,’ Doreen scolded. She used the palate knife to smooth over the mark from Trisha’s finger.
‘So who have you made these for?’ Trisha asked, licking her finger as she threw her school bag down on the kitchen chair.
‘Well, one is for old Jack next door and…’
‘You are so joking,’ Trisha cut in scoffing, ‘what would an old man want with a cake?’ she added.
‘It’s his birthday and as I was about to say, one is for you, too, though not sure you should have it with your attitude,’ and wondered what was it with the young these days?
‘Attitude, what do you mean?’ Trisha said, her tone teasing, ‘So you’ve made one for me, too. Whoa, now that is cool,’ Trisha added and without warning wrapped her arms around Doreen. ‘Just loves you so much,’ Trisha said and dropped a kiss on Doreen’s cheek.
‘Blimey, what are you after? Cos whatever it is, the answer is no,’ Doreen said wiping her wet cheek. She was wily enough to know Trisha was always full on with love and kisses when she wanted something. Kids, who would have them, even more so when they reached seventeen? she thought with affection. Yet, knowing her daughter was a pain in the arse at times, she loved her more than anything else in the world. It had been tough since she’d had her, but she would never trade those years for all the tea in China.
Trisha stared at the cakes, ‘You are so wrong, I am just saying thank you. So when can I have a slice?’ she asked.
‘When it’s cooler,’ Doreen answered, taking in her daughter who had a twig like figure and an appetite of a bear. She sighed, she only had to look at a cake and her body expanded ten sizes. ‘Put the kettle on and then it should be cool enough and then you can have a piece before I nip next door with Jack’s,’ Doreen said transferring one of the cakes on to a white plate. ‘This is for Jack, so mitts off,’ she added not missing Trisha’s beady eyes watching her. ‘Now, make us a hot drink.’
‘Will do,’ Trisha said, reaching over and grabbing hold of the kettle.
She heard the clatter of metal on the gas burner and Doreen watched as Trisha lit the gas. ‘I tell you, Trish, it’s been a funny day,’ she said, ‘what with one thing or another, I’ve got to thinking our luck could be on the turn and not before time, eh?’
Peering over her shoulder, Trisha stared at her mother, ‘The only thinking that will change our luck is if we win the lottery or some old biddy leaves us a fortune. Neither are likely; we don’t buy lottery tickets and we don’t know anyone rich,’ she said with too much wisdom for someone so young. ‘But I guess we can dream,’ Trisha added plucking two mugs from the plastic drainer next to the sink. ‘As our luck’s on the turn, is it one or two teabags?’ she asked, a huge grin making her ebony eyes twinkle.
‘You’re a cheeky minx, but for now better make it one; no good counting our chickens too soon,’ Doreen said already realising the extra money she would earn at the Drew’s would make a little difference but nothing shattering. ‘Anyway, I dislike strong tea.’ Doreen knew that was a lie, she loved nothing more than a cup of rosy lee so strong the spoon could stand up in it. ‘As I was telling you, it’s been a funny day.’
Trisha dropped a teabag in one of the mugs and leaned against the tiny Formica-topped table, ‘Funny “ha ha” or funny irritating?’
‘A bit of both, when I think of it,’ Doreen said slicing through the warm sponge on the rack with a knife. ‘The funny bit was seeing Simon Gilder and his warehouse looking like a snow scene, but that’s another story and not one I want to repeat.’ As Doreen spoke, she raised her hand to her hair and saw a sprinkling of white flour flutter down. Ignoring the dust, continued, ‘The best bit is, I’ve only gone and got meself another job. I never went looking for it; it came to me. Can you believe that?’ Doreen said, carefully placing a slice of warm chocolate cake on a plate. ‘And, if that wasn’t enough, Mr Greedy gave me the bar of choc for the cakes free. Now can you believe that as well?’ Doreen wiped her hands on her apron and with a beam on her face added, ‘You know, Trish, sometimes life ain’t all that bad.’
A look of bewilderment filled Trisha’s face, ‘If you say so, Mama. You are just so weird at times. Believe you me, if those snooty bitches I have to go to school with had half an inkling of what makes you happy, I’d be the laughing stock of that mad place.’ Trisha said. ‘You know, I could leave school and get a job and help out,’ Trisha added.
‘No! We’ve talked about this and I aint changed my mind. You get your qualifications and make something of yourself,’ Doreen snapped. The last thing she was having was her Trish scrubbing and cleaning like she had to do. ‘It’s no good pouting,’ Doreen said.
Trisha sniffed, ‘What and end up like those girls at school?’
Doreen ignored Trisha’s impudence. She knew her daughter didn’t mean it. It was tough for her daughter at that posh school; a fish out of water, but she was doing well. She had won a scholarship to one of the top schools in London making her the proudest mother on the planet. Though, where her gal got her brains from, she had no idea, but as long as there was breath in her body, she would make sure Trisha never had to work like she had to. The kettle shrilled out its ear piercing whistle breaking the spell, and Trisha turned round and switched the gas off.
‘Right, a cup of your finest coming up,’ Trisha said and grabbed the tea towel. She wrapped it around her hand, to save the handle burning her hand, then took hold of the kettle. Reaching over to the mugs she poured hot water on the teabag, then fished it out and dropped it into the other mug before topping it up with water.
Whatever had happened to teapots? Doreen wondered watching Trisha pull out the teabag as she placed a large slice of chocolate cake next to the mugs. ‘Here you go, gal, just pass the milk and then you can tuck into the cake.’
Handing over the plastic bottle, Doreen poured milk into Trisha’s mug and a splash into her own.
‘Mmm, this is just so good,’ Trisha said, chocolate sticking to her fingers and smearing around her mouth. ‘Thanks, Mama,’ Trisha said and placed a chocolate kiss on Doreen’s face.
‘Ugh, do you mind,’ Doreen moaned swiping at her face with the back of her hand. ‘While you fill your face, I’ll just pop next door and take Jack’s or you’ll end up scoffing both of them,’ Doreen sighed and thought the other cake would be half gone by the time she returned.
‘I’ve just made you a cuppa,’ Trisha said holding the cake between plate and mouth.
‘I know, I’ll have a quick sip, then I’ll
be back to finish it in a few minutes and it can cool whilst I pop next door,’ Doreen said. She tested her tea and found it too hot, fine to leave for a few minutes. She picked up the card she had signed and put on the little kitchen table where she couldn’t miss it, then she turned to Jack’s cake and with one hand stuck three blue candles into the top. She pulled a lighter from her pocket and lit them. ‘Let’s hope they don’t blow out before I get to Jack’s,’ she said, stuffing the card in the back pocket of her jeans, then holding the plate in one hand she cupped her other hand around the burning candles. ‘I’ll be back in a tick,’ she told Trisha. What she did not mention was she wanted to get back and have a decent drink. The half bottle of gin was still in her bag and right now, after a slog of a day cleaning, she would like to put her feet up and have a nip out of the bottle.
Pushing back thoughts of putting her feet up, Doreen walked carefully through her flat and out to next door.
Outside Jack’s she saw the door was ajar. ‘Hello,’ she called pushing the door wider with her foot.
‘Come in,’ a voice called back, ‘the door’s open.’
Doreen sniggered, course the door was open, how the bleeding hell did they think she got in? ‘It’s only me, Dor from next door,’ she retorted and with her elbow pushed the door shut.
‘Happy birthday to you,’ she sang out walking into the tiny lounge and was instantly silenced at seeing three other people sitting on the scruffy, worn, green three piece suite. ‘Blimey, I wasn’t expecting an audience,’ she said, feeling her cheeks glow.
‘Don’t take on, love,’ said a cerise pink-haired woman who didn’t look a day younger than Jack. ‘Come on in and sit yourself down.’
‘I’ve just popped in cos I’ve baked a cake for you, Jack,’ she said moving over to where he was sprawled out in his favourite chair next to the gas fire which was on full. Stepping over the legs of the others, Doreen stood in front of the birthday boy. ‘Happy birthday, Jack,’ she said bending down to show off the cake. ‘Right now you need to make a wish and then with all your puff blow the candles out,’ she explained taking in a deep breath to help him extinguish the candles.
The Birthday Card Page 3
