As One Door Opens

My brother Dave answered a knock at our door… and dashed back into the house like he’d seen a ghost. ‘There’s a f-f-f-fakir at the door!’ he exclaimed.

Mam went to investigate and found a turbaned gentleman at the doorstep, peddling wares from a suitcase. I looked suspiciously at my brother. Whatever he’d been about to say, I knew it wasn’t fakir. 

He laughed when I asked him about it afterwards.

‘It’s all I could think of,’ said Dave, of the word that had got him off the hook, because if he’d effed in front of our mam, Dad would have effing killed him.

Dave was always saying things that amused me, even when they weren’t meant to. Some of the customers on his paper round were terrible at paying up, making Friday a day to dread. In comparison, my round was straight forward and I’d be home long before him. ‘Where’ve you been?’ I asked one Friday night, when he came home two hours behind me.

‘I’ve been traipsing up and down, trying to collect some money. I know they’re home, but the rotten gits won’t answer the door. Those that do say they’ll pay next week and one horrible bastard swore blind he paid up last week. I know he’s lying but I can’t prove it ‘cause I ticked him off in the book and paid his arrears out of my own pocket, just to keep Quasi happy. I thought I’d get it back when he coughed up so that’s me bolloxed with ten bob up the Swanee. It’s Quasi’s fault for giving me such a shitty round but he just keeps going on about the arrears. He said if I can’t collect the money then he’ll have to let me go. He’s going to give me the gooner, I know he is!’

Poor Dave. While most kids on the Evening Post were earning just short of a pound a week, Dave was lucky to scrape fourteen shillings. He was right in everything he said. He was the youngest kid on the job, yet his round was easily the worst. I did it for him one Friday and fared little better. The pressure he was under was hardly fair but for all that, I couldn’t help laughing.

The biggest problem on my round was a dog I’d never seen. I feared my luck would run out sooner or later and it did, one Friday when collecting. As usual, the beast of Elham Close went berserk when I knocked. As usual, the old woman struggled to keep it back as she eased the door open just enough to put her hand out with the weekly payment. As usual, I took the money and scuttled down the path as fast as I could, but even as I made my escape, the woman sounded the alarm. How I wished I’d left the gate open when I heard Fido charging up behind me.

‘Don’t worry love, it won’t…’

‘Argh!’

The beast struck as I opened the gate, locking its jaws on my ankle. It wasn’t as big as I’d imagined, but its bite was bad enough and the bugger only let go when I slammed it with the gate.

‘Are you alright love?’

‘Yes,’ I lied.

Though I walked away like John Wayne, my heart was booming like a big bass drum. Inspecting the damage had to wait till I turned the corner onto Waltham Road, where I sat on a wall and rolled down my sock. It could have been a lot worse than a bit of blood and a big red mark that led to some colourful bruising but even so, I was well shaken up.