Rose Kelland
Black coffee and a
little biscuit
There’s a small park just around the corner from my house; a
small piece of green among the dark brick suburban houses. The trees home
numerous birds and squirrels, and the lush grass is a soft carpet to many
pooch’s running paws! On a dry morning I enjoy stepping across this small
piece of paradise. My pace slows and my spirit absorbs the peaceful cooing of
the doves, my whole being is cheered by the breakfast chatterings of the
blackbirds and the scampering squirrels bring a smile to my face. Too soon this
morning paradise is left behind, but it’s been enough to prepare my soul for a
busy office day.
On Thursday I looked up to the skies which had over the last few days rained
its blessings all over the city, and decided that the next half hour would be
clear and sunny and so I hastened across the busy road, past the sad, cramped
houses, to the green and slightly muddy path which winds through the park. With
the path just in sight, a skittish black cat almost tripped me as it ran from
under a parked car to an open gateway. It stopped and looked back at the human
who had made it run, before scampering to the cat flap, and, no doubt, a bowl
of kitty breakfast.
Black cat, I thought, now
is that good luck or bad luck?! With only a few paces to the park, my mind
raced over what might be considered bad luck in the hours ahead. I am not
seriously superstitious and I love animals, especially cats, so this thought
was merely an early morning brain exercise.
There were no mongrels playing
games with the squirrels this morning, but there was a lady sitting on the park
bench. I looked around expecting to see a scrappy puppy looking like a
contented dirty little boy come bounding toward her – but there were no
four-legged creatures in the park at all.
As I drew closer to the
bench, the lady stood up, straightened her skirt and started walking across the
rain-wet grass away from the path. But as I drew level I heard her
hesitantly call, ‘’Scuse me.’ At 7.30 in the morning there are few commuters
walking to work and I turned to the lady who now seemed to be a little
distressed.
‘Can you tell me please,
the way to High Street?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ I said,
‘Do you want to go by bus or walk?’ I was walking to the High Street, and I was
quite happy to have a companion, but the bus stop was outside my front door.
‘I will walk,’ she said
with very little hesitation.
There was something in this
lady that caught at my heart. While being wary of scammers, my gut feeling was
that maybe I could be an angel for someone one day. Or was that black cat
watching me?
As we walked out of the
park and away from the wildlife’s morning preparations, I noticed that she
looked more dishevelled than I had at first noticed. Not wanting to sound rude
I had to find a way of drawing this stranger to me, so if she’d let me, I could
maybe offer help. The black cat was maybe the stranger-lady’s good
luck charm, maybe it wasn’t my bad luck!
‘Are you visiting this
area?’ I asked tentatively.
‘Yes,’ but at this point
her eyes welled up with tears and she sniffed openly.
More quietly now I ventured
to ask, ‘Did you sleep in the park last night?’
The faintest of nods
accompanied the screwed up face, the biting lip and the glistening tears now
falling off the wrinkles of her cheeks. That black cat was definitely her good
luck cat. It had nothing to do with me!
'Let’s go back to my house,
and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ I had to say it with more of a command than a
suggestion, and gently held my hand out as I stopped to turn around. There was
no hesitation in the dear lady at all, she turned and walked back the way we
had come. Throughout the park the squirrels had woken up and were rushing
around trying to find where they’d stored their breakfast, and a spaniel was
sniffing the wet grass trying to find an unused spot near a tree!
As we left the park where I
had first entered, the black cat was sitting at the gate elegantly cleaning his
bib. He meowed gently as we passed by. I smiled and winked at the cat – a
knowing little look between us.
Anka sat in our
conservatory as it warmed up in the morning’s sun. We’d found her some clothes
and hers were whirring quietly in the washing machine. She was on her second
cup of tea and had gratefully accepted the muesli and toast with
marmalade. I had called the office to say I would be in later, and
we sat, in frequent puddles of silence as she told me her story.
Anka had left her husband
in Poland. Her children had all left home for the city and good jobs and this
was her chance to start a new life. She hadn’t seen her sister for many years,
but knew she had moved to London about five years previously. I listened to the
sad story of unhappiness, emotional abuse and subsequent low
self-esteem. As she spoke of her childhood with her sister, her
marriage and leaving home, she slipped in her sister’s name and the man she had
married. My brain had been lulled by the sad story, but suddenly clicked as I
recognised the pure pronunciation of ‘Dyta’ and ‘Wojtek’. I backtracked my
thoughts a little, and carefully asked her to repeat their names.
‘Dyta and Wojtek,’ she said
again.
Was it just a coincidence
that these were the names of the Polish couple right next door to me who said
they had been in the UK for nearly five years? Or were these perhaps common
Polish names? Anka continued with her story, unaware of the huge butterflies
suddenly flying into a frenzy within me.
At the next tearful
interlude, I made Anka another cup of tea, added a biscuit, and excused myself
as I sneaked out of the front door and knocked on my neighbour’s
door. Very unsure of how to approach the issue, I simply asked Dyta
if she had a sister.
‘Yes!’ Her face lit
up! Good! That shows there’s still good feelings there, I
thought.
‘I think your sister may be
sitting in my kitchen!’ I still wondered if I was doing the right thing.
‘Anka?! Anka is here?’ Dyta
nearly knocked me over as she tumbled down the steps from her doorway.
There were squeals and
cries and ‘Ooh’s’ and ‘Aah’s’ coming from the back of my house. I stayed back,
with tears welling in my own eyes.
That black cat was certainly good luck for someone – in fact
for some two!
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Bio:
Rose has been writing short stories and poetry for about five years
since buying a writing mag for her daughter - who is now studying
creative writing! She has had a couple of pieces published in Carillon
Magazine, and was the December 2011 winner of an online creative writing
competition, and also wrote 'Neighbours' for Cafe Lit in 2011. Rose uses
every-day life situations and expands them into stories!
www.rosescountryrose.blogspot.com
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