The Birthday Card

by Pauline Barclay

  ‘Course, I can’t have you on a school day out with no dosh. What next?’ Doreen said with a smile.

  ‘Awww, thanks a million,’ Trisha said and leaning forward dropped a sloppy kiss on Doreen’s cheek. Then she stuffed the note into the inside pocket of her blazer, turned. ‘Loves you to the moon and back.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Doreen said; cupboard love more like it, she mused and watched Trisha hurry out of the flat. Hearing the door slam shut, Doreen stared into her purse. Apart from two pound coins and a fifty pence piece, it was empty. Handing over the tenner to Trisha meant she was skint, but what could she do? She couldn’t have her going out with nothing. Doreen closed her purse. No matter how many hours she worked, her wages never covered everything. Now she couldn’t even afford a packet of fags and she dared not go to Mr Greedy’s and have them put on the slate. She already owed two weeks. Paying the rent and then the lecky, she hadn’t had enough left to clear her slate so, instead of going in on Friday like she did most weeks, she had avoided the shop. Needing bread, milk and a few basics, she had sent Trisha. Mr Greedy was many things at times, but he would never harass Trisha or any other kid or refuse to let them put genuine goods on the slate. As she had expected, he had asked Trisha to ask her mother to call in the shop. Of course she would go, but it would not be before Friday when she was paid.

  Noting the time on the wall clock, Doreen dropped her empty purse into her bag, turned the light off and left her flat with a heavy, tired heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  Annie tucked her arm into Doreen’s. ‘Thanks for coming, love,’ Annie said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. Together they walked out of the crematorium. ‘It was short, but nice.

  The two of them stepped out together into the cloudy morning. If there was a sun up there, there was no evidence of it. Doreen shivered and nodded in agreement. She was unsure if the shiver was on account of the cold or the fact there had just been the two of them at Jack’s funeral.

  ‘What happened to the others?’ Doreen asked.

  ‘Who do you mean, the neighbours, the others who came to his birthday bash, or his kids?’

  Doreen was under no illusion that any of the neighbours would have attended. Apart from the occasional nod on the landings or stairs, most kept themselves to themselves. Distrust was rife; who knew who would shop you if they thought you were getting more than them from social, or anyone that handed money out to those who did not or could not work. As for Jack’s kids, she had never seen any visit, though she knew Jack had two boys. Boys, she thought, more like old men now given Jack was eighty-one. She had learnt his age on his birthday. Why the friends who had been at Jack’s on his birthday had not shown their last respects, she had no idea.

  ‘Well, not the neighbours,’ Doreen said, ‘but I would have expected his mates to be there.’ She reached into her pocket and felt the reassurance of the packet of cigarettes Jan had given her that morning. It was a relief knowing she could have a smoke before she started her next clean, even if the prickle of embarrassment sat heavily on her shoulders.

  ‘Let’s have a smoke before we knuckle down,’ Jan said, taking hold of the handle on the fire door that lead out to the yard at the back of Grays’ office block. ‘And you can tell me what you did over the weekend.’

  ‘Nothing to report, but today of all days, I’d best get on, I’ve got a funeral later this morning. Not the best way to start a week, but it’s for my neighbour. You remember me telling you about him?

  ‘The old man that snuffed it on his birthday?’ Jan said pan-faced, staring at Doreen.

  Doreen winced at Jan’s words; they sounded disrespectful and unkind even though Jan didn’t know who he was. ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ she said, trying not to think about a cigarette because more than ever she could have done with one now.

  ‘As you say, it ain’t the best way to start the week, but a quick chinwag and a smoke will make things look brighter. Come on, let’s lean against the wall and have five minutes,’ Jan persisted, pushing the door open, allowing the cold morning air to rush into the warm offices. Jan stepped out into the yard; Doreen hung back. Normally she wouldn’t have hesitated in giving her work mate the rundown of her weekend, even though there was nothing to say, but they always managed to have a giggle about something or someone. But how could she stand there knowing she couldn’t go into Mr Greedy’s to buy a packet of fags?

  ‘OK what’s really going down?’ Jan asked, ‘I’m not a fool, you’re skint again, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes and no.’

  Jan glared at her.

  ‘Well, yes, only because Trish’s on a school trip and needed a tenner.’

  ‘OK, so what’s the big issue? Why didn’t you call in the shop and stick them on the slate like you normally do?’

  Doreen looked down at her trainers as she told Jan the reason she couldn’t go to Mr Greedy’s.

  Jan threw her arms in the air, ‘Dor, you are a bleeding nightmare. You can’t go on living like this, somethings gotta give,’ Jan said, dropping her arms down to her side. She pushed her hand in her pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. She flipped the lid open and counted how many were in there. ‘Here, take these,’ she said, handing over the packet with half of the cigarettes she had counted. Keeping hold of two, Jan slipped the other four back into her pocket. ‘I hate to see you like this and I know you’ve helped me out in the past, but, gal, you can’t carry on like this.’

  Doreen was more than aware she couldn’t carry on like this, but what could she do, she was working every hour God sent?

  ‘By the way, those are for later,’ Jan said pointing at Doreen’s pocket. ‘So stick this between your lips.’ Jan handed over one of the two cigarettes.

  Sick with embarrassment, Doreen did as she was told, ‘Thanks, Jan, you’re a life savour, and I promise, I’ll get them back to you after the weekend.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that, but for now let’s get lit up and find something or someone to bitch about and have a giggle.’ Jan chuckled loudly and she flicked her lighter before holding the flame to Doreen’s cigarette and then to her own.

  They stood outside in the cold, dark morning and Doreen found herself recounting again her singing carry-on at Jack’s birthday party. Jan laughed like a drain and agreed her neighbour had had a good end.

  ‘No pain, just a bloody good time,’ Jan said and she agreed. Doreen knew Jan was a good mate, but nonetheless it hurt knowing Jan was helping her out again. Her finances, no matter how hard she tried, hung on a thin thread that snapped from time to time.

  ‘The others didn’t come, said they weren’t up to funerals, but then who is?’ Annie said.

  Annie’s voice drifted into Doreen’s subconscious and she became aware she hadn’t been listening.

  ‘Right,’ Doreen said in the hope she was saying the right thing.

  ‘As for the boys,’ Annie continued, apparently unperturbed at Doreen’s lack of conversation. They walked alongside a small garden where evergreen shrubs appeared vibrant in the grey overcast day, and dedication plaques stood like soldiers to attention in front of them. ‘I don’t think they’ve spoken to their father in over twenty-five years. Jack told me often that he ain’t got no kids; he’d washed his hands of them. You can’t blame him,’ Annie said slowing her pace as they approached the gate that would take them out of the crematorium gardens. ‘Hang on a minute,’ she added and stopped in front of the gate. She unzipped her handbag and pulled out a small brown envelope and handed it to Doreen. ‘Whilst I think of it, this is for you.’

  Doreen stared down at it. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Just take it. Jack didn’t have a will as such, mind, he didn’t have much either. As far as he was concerned, what he had mounted to bugger all, though he did tell me some time ago, if there was any money in his drawer when he popped his clogs, he wanted you to have half. Jack was fond of you and you kept an eye on him with bits of shopping and being a good neighbour. He appreciated you
taking time for him.’

  Doreen allowed Annie to put the envelope in her hand. Her name had been scribbled on the front.

  ‘He was good to me and helped me out from time to time when I got myself into a mess. Doing a few things for him was the least I could have done,’ Doreen said, staring down at the small envelope.

  ‘Well, open it,’ Annie said impatiently.

  Doing as Annie bid, Doreen pulled open the envelope and saw folded notes inside.

  ‘It’s a hundred and twenty-five quid,’ Annie said.

  Stunned, Doreen stared down at the opened envelope and felt a lump rise in her throat and, before she could get a grip of her emotions, a tear slipped down her cold face and splashed on the envelope.

  ‘Come on, love, ain’t nothing to cry about. Jack knew what he was doing,’ Annie said. ‘Come on, let’s have a cuppa to Jack.’

  Doreen nodded, the lump in her throat stopping her from speaking. She knew she needed to get back to work, but how could she just walk away? Swallowing hard to clear her throat, with emotion she said, ‘Yeah, why not?’ and swiped at her tear with the back of her hand. Tucking the envelope into the bottom of her bag to keep it safe, she let Annie slip her arm back into hers again and together, in silence, they headed towards the little café down the road they had passed earlier.

  Chapter Twelve

  The heavy clouds of earlier had morphed into a cold wet day making everything drip with moisture. Doreen didn’t miss the long faces of those who had ventured out as she sat on the bus heading home. She sat squashed in her seat as the person next to her was on the large size and spread his elbows, taking up all the available space. Adding to her discomfort was the cloying whiff of damp clothes along with steamed up windows, running with condensation, making it impossible to see out. It was not the best journey, but the smile which had filled her face earlier that day had not waned. Even the cold miserable weather couldn’t penetrate the warmth she felt inside at the kindness of her late neighbour.

  Who would have thought it? she mused, and recounted the gift: one hundred and twenty-five smackers. The envelope, with its notes, sat safely in the bottom of her bag, and as tempted as she was to kiss the envelope every few minutes, she had managed to restrain herself, but only just. She giggled at her silliness.

  Excited as she felt, it would be wise to keep her windfall to herself. What others didn’t know about couldn’t bother them. The money was not a fortune, but it made a world of difference to her.

  After leaving Annie, with a lighter step than she had set out with that morning, she entered Harvey’s warehouse expecting to buckle down and try to catch up. To her surprise, Simon Gilder relented on her making up the time.

  ‘Just do what you can,’ he had said, ‘You’re a good sort, Doreen, and I know you muck in when we need a crap job sorted like you did with all that bloody flour.’

  She had stopped dead in her tracks and looked over her shoulder, convinced he had been talking to someone else.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked, I’m not an ogre,’ Simon had added placing his hand on her arm. ‘Anyway, I’ll let you get cracking and my little office can wait until tomorrow.’

  Removing his hand, he pushed it in his pocket and strode across the warehouse. She had been gob smacked having never thought anyone noticed how hard she worked. How wrong she had been!

  Now, as she sat on the bus, Doreen hugged her bag. The first thing she was going to do was to settle her slate with Mr Greedy. It would make her feel better and she would be able to hold her head up again when she passed the shop instead of crossing the road to stay out of sight. After that, she would buy a packet of fags for her mate, Jan. It was the least she could do after she had come to her rescue earlier. Calculating she would still have a few quid left after everything, she decided a treat was needed for her and Trisha. Tonight they would eat in style with a takeaway pizza.

  ‘Thank you, Jack, you’ve saved my life again,’ she said in a low whisper and found herself, once again, choked up at his kindness. So caught up in her thoughts it was only when she squinted through the window, where someone had rubbed a clearing on the steamed glass, she realised where she was. ‘Gawd, stop the bus!’ she cried, jumping up from her seat and knocking into the elbows of the passenger next to her. Ignoring his cry of protest, she ran down the bus towards the driver.

  ‘In a rush tonight love?’ the driver said, nosing the bus into the layby and her bus stop.

  The squeaky scraping of the wipers across the windscreen was suddenly drowned out at the thundering footsteps of passengers headed to the exit. Doreen scowled at the driver. He must think she was a halfwit, legging it down the bus like she was demented. Not wanting to encourage further comment, she joined the rest of the passengers and stepped off the bus.

  With the rain looking like it was set in for the rest of the day, Doreen pulled up the collar of her jacket in an attempt to keep the rain from trickling down her neck. Shivering, the British weather never let anyone down she grumbled and wished she had been born in a hot country. Nudging her way through the throng of people, Doreen made her way to Mr Greedy’s.

  Shaking the rain drops from her hair, Doreen pushed open the door and the familiar tinkling of the overhead bell rang out. Relieved to be out of the rain, she wrinkled her nose. It might be raining cats and dogs outside, but the familiar, unpleasant odour persisted in here. Not wanting to ponder what it might be, she headed to the counter where a young mother with a small child in a pushchair was turning to leave. Waiting her turn, she took in the young mother dressed in tight denim jeans and a short sleeved, skimpy woollen top, short enough to reveal three small gold coloured rings pierced into her belly button. Doreen was transfixed at the young mother’s dress code and wondered if they were living in the same country let alone the same area. No sooner had her thoughts taken in the girl’s attire and belly button on show, when her eyes feasted on an armful of tattoos. ‘Grief, what a mess,’ she muttered, ‘blimey, I must be getting old,’ she added not liking such a thought.

  Ignoring Doreen, the young mother flashed a winning smile at Mr Greedy.

  ‘Fanks for this,’ she cooed in a baby-blue voice that belied her image as she shoved a large, unwrapped, chocolate bar into the young child’s hand. In a flash the child snatched it from its mother and stuffed it in its mouth.

  ‘See you soon, my dear,’ Mr Greedy called, his eyes never leaving the girl’s bottom as she sashayed out of the shop pushing the stroller.

  ‘Pretty girl,’ Mr Greedy said loud enough for the young mother to hear. Doreen was certain he was salivating.

  ‘Men,’ she cursed as she took in the scene and was starkly reminded how young the mother looked, in fact, not much older than her daughter. She shuddered, reminding herself she needed to talk to Trisha sooner than later.

  The shop door slammed shut, the little bell jingled manically at the force. Mr Greedy turned his attention to Doreen.

  ‘Goodness, we have a stranger in our midst,’ he chortled, startling Doreen. ‘Having not seen hide nor hair of you, I drew the only conclusion I could and assumed it must have been you who had won the lottery a few weeks ago and must have left the country.’ Raising his eyebrows, Mr Greedy continued, ‘My hypothesis was heightened with the rumour that the winner is someone from this part of town.’

  Doreen gawped at him. Blimey, what was the old fool on about? She had been given one hundred and twenty-five quid. Not a fortune but a life saver, and what does she do, she comes in here to settle her slate and this is how she is treated.

  She was not amused. The smile that had lingered all day, slipped from her face. She would have been better off keeping clear of the shop and having a night out. But before she could find a suitable retort, Mr Greedy slapped a slip of crumbled, pink paper on the counter.

  ‘Can I take it these were your numbers, because these are winning ones?’ He put his hands together as if to pray, ‘Oh my, it would be wonderful if you have come to tell me it was you and to think my l
ittle shop sold the ticket.’

  Wondering if the old goat had lost it all together, Doreen glanced down at the numbers and laughed. She couldn’t remember all the numbers she had chosen the other week, but those she could were not listed on the pink paper. Good job, she thought, now realising she had no idea what she had done with her lottery ticket.

  ‘You almost had me going there,’ she said placing her right hand on her heart. ‘I’ll say this, you know how to get a girl’s heart beating like a military tattoo, but do you honestly think I’d be walking down the puddle strewn street, soaked to the skin, in the bleedin’ rain if I’d scooped a shed load of dosh?’

  ‘Put like that, I see your point,’ Mr Greedy said disappointment dulling his shiny, greedy eyes, his disillusionment palpable as he pushed the slip of paper back under the counter. ‘Forgive a simple shopkeeper for hoping that one of his customers could be that lucky,’ he said, placing the palms of his hands down on the counter and looking into her face. ‘I was only speculating on why you have avoided coming into my shop, but, like all the other times, the reality is you’re broke and did not want me to confront you with your, unpaid, slate bill.’ He slapped the palms of his hands on the counter making Doreen jump. ‘You don’t know me as well as you think,’ he added letting Doreen know he was not the fool she thought he was.

  Blimey, she was not expecting such a lecture, but no matter, she was not going to let him ruin what had been a great day. Pulling her bag from her shoulder and dropping it down on the counter, she reached in and surreptitiously opened the envelope inside.

  ‘Well, for your info, I ain’t been in cos it’s been manic since poor old Jack snuffed it.’ A satisfied feeling swept through her at seeing the change of expression on Mr Greedy’s face at her words.

  ‘Oh, my words, of course, that was very insensitive of me,’ he said contritely, ‘I apologise.’

  ‘Accepted,’ she said feeling mean at telling a little white lie. It had been manic, but nothing to do with her old neighbour. ‘Whatever, I’ve come in today to pay my slate because I’ve not been able to get here before.’ Feeling she had put him in his place, added. ‘Now, how much do I owe you?’