The Birthday Card

by Pauline Barclay

  In less than a nano second Doreen saw her bill swallow up a good chunk of the money Jack had left her. Trying not to show how deflated she felt, she counted out the notes and placed them on the counter. She opened her purse and took out a pound coin and the fifty pence piece and added these to the notes. Handing over the full amount, she was aware she would have been hard pressed to pay the bill even after she was paid at the end of the week. Well, it was sorted now and there were still a few notes left.

  ‘Give me two packets of my usual fags and before you asked, no I don’t want them on me slate, I’ll pay now,’ she added dropping another note on the counter.

  Doreen watched Mr Greedy take the money and count it. ‘Are you sure you’ve not won the lottery?’ Mr Greedy asked, folding the money into the till. ‘What about another ticket whilst you are flush?’ he queried, pointing at the ticket shelf.

  ‘I wasted a quid the last time you insisted I buy a ticket, so for now on I’ll stick to my fags: at least I know what I’ve got.’

  Looking bewildered at Doreen’s latest outcry, Mr Greedy said, ‘You’ve lost me my dear,’ and placed two packets of cigarettes on the counter.

  Pushing the packets into her bag and with nothing else needed, she turned to leave, ‘Right, that’s it for today. Thanks again,’ she said. Not waiting for a response, Doreen left the shop.

  The earlier downpour had lightened to a fine rain soaking through Doreen’s jacket, jeans and trainers. She felt the laundry that came out of her washing machine was drier than she was as rain drops dropped off her chin. In an attempt to keep the two takeaway pizza boxes dry, she had tucked them under her handbag letting the bag take the worst of the weather and hoped the weight of her bag didn’t squash the treat for their tea. Out of breath from her hasty walk home, Doreen climbed the steps to the second floor and was about to make a dash down the landing to her door when a scruffy black and white dog, raced past her almost knocking the pizzas out of her hands.

  ‘Lordy, lordy,’ she cried hanging on to the pizza boxes and trying to keep her balance. ‘Where the hell did you spring from?’ she squealed.

  No sooner had the words left her mouth when a voice screeched out.

  ‘Off with you and don’t come back, you dirty old mongrel.’

  The dog high-tailed it down the steps before any further calling to him would be heard. Standing outside Jack’s flat, a young woman stood, hands on hips. ‘Can’t believe he followed us here,’ the woman said. ‘Fing is, he ain’t mine, but seems to fink he belongs with me.’

  Arriving outside her own flat, Doreen took in who was talking and recognised the young mother from the shop.

  ‘Didn’t I see you in Mr Greedys’?’ Doreen said taken aback.

  ‘Yeah. Didn’t know it was called ‘Mr Greedy’s’,’

  ‘It ain’t. I call it that as he rips us off with his high prices,’ Doreen said and smiled. ‘What you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?’ she added not missing the open front door, lights burning as if electricity was free.

  ‘We just moved in this afters. Nice little place. Can I take it you live here, too?’

  ‘Yeah, next door,’ Doreen said, thinking the council didn’t take long before they filled a dead man’s shoes.

  ‘By the way, me name is Kes, and me girl is Poppy. She’s a good little fing, considering the way we’ve had to live since I had her. I can’t tell you how glad I’m to have a proper roof over our heads and our own front door. Anyway, we’re going to be fine now. I know it’s only been a few hours, but I already feel settled,’ Kes continued. ‘It’s just the two of us,’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘Well, I’m Dor and my girl is Trisha. You’ll get to meet her eventually,’ Doreen said, and was going to add her girl was a typical seventeen old, but guessing Kes was not much older, instead said, ‘School and sleep seem to be her main thing at the moment.’ Staying out late and lying, but she kept that to herself. ‘What about the dog?’ she asked, changing the subject and checking down the landing thinking it might reappear.

  ‘He ain’t mine, he just follows us around and I don’t want him to get his paws under the table if I can help it. So I shout at him in the hope he’ll get the message.’

  ‘Right,’ Doreen said with no idea about dogs only that they barked and could bite you.

  A cry came from inside Kes’ flat. ‘Sounds like madam wants attention,’ Kes said shrugging her shoulders and, as if for the first time, she noticed the pizza boxes. ‘Best let you get in or they’ll be cold,’ she said, ‘See you later, and I hope we’ll be friends,’ Kes said then headed back into her flat and closed the door.

  Pushing her key into the lock, Doreen thought about her new neighbour and did not envy her. She had been down that road of a single mum at seventeen and it was no picnic.

  Pushing the door open, Doreen called out, ‘You in Trish?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘What a week,’ Doreen grumbled under her breath, thankful it was Friday and she had finished her last clean of the week. The Drew family were lovely and she enjoyed doing the chores that made life easier for them, but the extra hours had caught up on her. This week she had done an extra hour and a half each day as Mrs Drew had an appointment on Saturday and she wouldn’t be needed. What could she say?

  Now, having finished work, the thought of not working Saturday was a relief. She had to admit she was cream crackered. Her weariness had not been helped by the new neighbour’s little girl screaming day and night. She had knocked on the door a couple of times to offer help, but had been told in a none-too-friendly tone, the toddler was teething. That may be, she had thought as she had padded back into her own flat, but it was not on that the rest of the neighbourhood had to suffer.

  Pushing the memories of her sleepless nights to the back of her mind, she shoved her cold hands into her pockets and straight away winced. The skin grazed against the jacket fabric reminding her how sore they were. The cold weather and all the cleaning was the cause. One of these days she would treat herself to a pot of hand cream. Ignoring the discomfort of her hands, she felt for her cigarettes, only to remember she had smoked the last one on her way to Beccles Close, the empty packet tossed in a rubbish bin.

  ‘What a life,’ she muttered, and despite being thirty-five going on ninety, she felt well passed her prime. Quickening her step, she wondered if her life would ever improve. What she needed was a rich bloke, preferably a sugar daddy. The older the better as the young ones had got her nowhere. A loaded old geezer would do nicely, she dreamed. He would have to treat her like a princess and give her a lavish life. She giggled at her fantasy. The reality was that the only old bloke she clapped eyes on was Mr Greedy, this thought had her shuddering. Blimey, I’d take a vow of celibacy if he was all that was left. She chuckled. Then thinking of the grubby shop, she had better stop by and pick up a few bits and a packet of fags. Maybe the old goat sold ear defenders too, though she was so shattered she could sleep through anything at the moment, including screaming Poppy.

  With her spirits at an all time low, she entered the shop.

  ‘And before you ask, the answer is no and yes, I’ll not be buying a lottery ticket, but I’ll be buying another packet of fags.’

  Looking up from pricing a box of tinned peas, Mr Greedy stared at her, a baffled expression creeping across his face. ‘Good afternoon, Doreen. Goodness, this is not like my best customer to be so aggressive,’ he said leaving the box and the pricing gun and moving towards his customer.

  Hearing his soft words and seeing the hurt on his pinched face, Doreen realised she had been unnecessarily rude. No matter how she felt, he didn’t deserve her biting his head off. It was hardly his fault she was dead on her feet. She was about to apologise when Mr Greedy continued.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you do look all in. No doubt you are overdoing things,’ he said popping behind his counter.

  Standing on the other side of the counter giving him a sceptical look, Doreen could
hardly believe his words. Crikey, he was the last person she would expect to notice how tired she was. Instantly she felt ashamed of herself, it was not like her to snap and, as annoying as he could be, he meant well. ‘It’s been a busy week,’ she offered weakly, ‘and I shouldn’t have snapped at you.’

  For the first time in all the years she had shopped at Mr Greedy’s, she had never seen him look bashful, but she was sure he was taken aback by her contrition.

  ‘Well, let us say, thank goodness it is the weekend for you. Unlike me, you can have a rest tomorrow. Now, let me get your cigarettes.’ Mr Greedy turned as he spoke and plucked a packet of Doreen’s favourite brand from the cabinet behind him. Placing them on the counter in front of her, he added. ‘As I said, it is the weekend and why not buy a lottery ticket? You might be the next person to win in the area.’

  Why did he need to keep trying to flog her a lottery ticket? Though her curiosity was peaked at his words about the next person.

  ‘Next person, what do you mean? Cos I’ve not heard anything about a lottery winner from here. Blimey, news like that would be the talk of the streets.’

  Frowning, Mr Greedy shook his head, ‘Well, that’s the problem, nobody knows who it is, but word has it, it is definitely someone in this area.’

  Doreen had no idea how anyone could know if the winner was from this area when it seemed they hadn’t come forward, but she was too tired to question his logic. ‘Lucky beggar, whoever it is, but I still ain’t buying another ticket. In my book lightening don’t strike twice,’ she said, no doubt, spoiling his thoughts about someone local winning.

  ‘I can see it is not a good day for you, but I do owe you an apology.’

  ‘Accepted,’ she burst out with no idea what he was saying sorry for, maybe mentioning buying a lottery ticket again and so he should be sorry.

  ‘No, Doreen, you don’t understand.’ To Doreen’s astonishment, Mr Greedy disappeared from behind the counter and seemed to drop down to the floor.

  Doreen was about to go round to see if he was OK, when she heard him mumbling. Looking round the shop for assistance if needed, she cried ‘Crikey, why was there never anyone else in this shop?’

  ‘Ahh, got it,’ Mr Greedy murmured, appearing over the counter clutching a pink piece of paper. Startled, Doreen watched as he laid the ticket down on the counter. ‘This is what I am apologising for,’ he added. ‘The pink ticket, I flashed in front of you, when you last came to my shop, was not the winning numbers for the week you bought your ticket. I would never have noticed had I not been rooting for a key. It was then I spotted the old pink ticket and noted the date. I should have been more careful, because the week you bought your lottery ticket was when poor old Jack died. And, because you’ve not been in to check your numbers, I wanted to remind you.’

  Doreen was taken aback at Mr Greedy’s concern. He was a strange man at times, but it seemed he cared. ‘That’s kind of you,’ she said and leaned over to see the numbers. Squinting at the pink paper, she managed to make out that one of the numbers was twenty-eight. That was one of hers, but one number didn’t win you anything. ‘I can’t make the rest out, the numbers are tiny,’ she said her interest dissipating.

  ‘Let me read them to you, better than that, let me have your ticket and I’ll scan to see if you have the winning numbers.’

  Doreen listened and recognised three more of the numbers. She took a deep breath. Blimey, what had she done with it? Had she not put it in her bag? She glanced inside and to her disappointment there was no sign of a lottery ticket. Trying not to panic, she looked at Mr Greedy, ‘I might have three of those numbers,’ she ventured, ‘who knows I might have won a few quid.’

  ‘Let me have your ticket and I’ll confirm,’ Mr Greedy insisted.

  Not wanting to admit she had no idea where her ticket was, she said, ‘It’s at home, so just let me take the paper and then I can check.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mr Greedy said his smile returning as he handed over the pink slip, ‘just bring me your ticket and, if you are a winner, I will be the happiest shopkeeper in town to hand over your winnings. Now you see I told you it is worth investing in the lottery. Now maybe you will buy another.’

  Doreen ignored him and without looking at the piece of paper, she stuffed it into her bag. No need getting excited if she couldn’t find the bleeding ticket, but her head began to fill with thoughts of what she had done with it. Thinking about the possibility of winning a little cash, her mind went blank on everything else. Whatever she had planned to buy had slipped out of her head. She needed ciggies, but what else? With no idea, decided she needed to come back later, but not before she found her winning ticket. She had to find it even if it meant turning the flat upside down. With her mind reeling on the possibility of a win, she picked up the packet of cigarettes and placed them in her pocket. ‘Thanks, that will be all for now. Can I add them to my slate and I’ll settle up when I come back with my ticket.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mr Greedy said and rubbed his hands together. ‘I look forward to you returning with your ticket,’ he added before taking hold of his debt book to add the cost of the cigarettes against Doreen’s name.

  Chapter Fourteen

  With every step Doreen took on her short journey home she could think of nothing else but where she had put her lottery ticket. She felt sick at the thought that she might have enough numbers to win a few quid. She had used birthday dates and for reasons she could not now fathom why she had added twenty-eight as her last number. What did that relate to? She bit at her bottom lip, whatever it was supposed to signify it really didn’t matter it was still one of the numbers.

  What had she done with her ticket? It must be somewhere, but where?

  ‘Lord, lordy, it could only happen to me,’ she sniffed and felt a rush of panic shudder through her at the idea she might never find it.

  Pushing her way through a group of youths, who seemed oblivious of the cold and wet, wearing thin jackets and trainers, as they leant against a wall, her mind raced at what she might have done with the ticket. She went over the numbers again and this time could only think of three she was certain of. The more she thought of them the more confused she became. Was it three or four numbers? ‘Stop it, Dor, you’re going to send yourself crazy carrying on like this,’ she castigated herself. As soon as she was home she would check again. She was certain she had won a few quid, but only if she could find the bleeding ticket. ‘Think, Doreen, think,’ she said out loud, it’s got to be somewhere. She didn’t live in a mansion just a poky flat.

  Ignoring stares from passers-by, Doreen pushed her mind to think harder. It was no good, she simply could not think straight. All she could recall from the Friday morning she had bought the ticket was that it had been chaotic. She had been running late for work and needed to get a packet of her ciggies and, of course, a birthday card for Jack. Then Mr Greedy had pestered her to buy a ticket. He had been like a dog with a bone. In the end for a quiet life, and so she could be on her way to work, she had succumbed to his badgering. She had begrudged the quid it had cost and remembered shoving the ticket in her bag with contempt at allowing herself to be talked into it. Worried about being late, she had marched down the street to work. Then, remembering, the other thing she had done was to re-read the card she had bought for Jack before stuffing it into her bag. Had the ticket fallen out when she had pulled her cigarettes out at work? Had someone else found it and was hanging on to claim the few quid? Surely not.

  Her mind raced and tumbled over the events as she tried to recall the day she had bought her ticket. Annoyed for being so cavalier with her extravagance, she bit too hard on her bottom lip and instantly tasted blood. Gawd, what made her do that, she winced, sucking at the metallic tasting blood. The ticket should be in her bag, but she had looked through it in front of Mr Greedy and it had been in vain. It was not there. As he had looked on, she had wondered if he was laughing at her or was it pity that crossed his face? How could it happen to her? She had the cha
nce of winning a few pounds and she had lost the ticket. She wanted to cry, but more importantly, she wanted to scream at being so careless and stupid.

  With weariness and anger propelling her down the road, Doreen turned into the short road that led to Wentworth House. As her mind continued to race, she found she was tripping over her thoughts and now was not sure if any of the numbers on the paper were hers. ‘Oh, Doreen, you are a silly,’ she cried. My God, I’m so confused, she sniffled with exasperation as she climbed the stairs to the second floor and her flat. Her nostrils did not miss the stench that permeated the block of flats, urine, hardship and hopelessness, she thought too weary to worry.

  ‘You’re home,’ Trisha called as Doreen crossed the threshold, ‘because someone is here to see you,’ her daughter added stepping into the hallway.

  ‘Really,’ Doreen said. The last thing she needed was someone in her flat right now and what was left of her energy drained away. Slipping out of her wet jacket, all she wanted to do was tip her bag out to see if the ticket was lurking somewhere she hadn’t noticed.

  Dragging her heels, she walked into the living room and was greeted by her new neighbour. ‘Hello, Doreen,’ Kes said, Poppy straddled across her hip. ‘Sorry to bother you, but I don’t suppose there’s a chance you could look after her for a couple of hours. I wouldn’t ask but my mate who would normally have her can’t make it and I need to go out.’

  Doreen looked at Kes and saw she was dressed in the same outfit she was wearing when she had first met her in Mr Greedy’s shop. It was freezing outside; she would catch her death dressed like that and rubbed her own hands together feeling the chill. ‘I’m just back from work,’ Doreen said as an answer.