Closed Doors

Roger Noons

Closed Doors

A large mug of hot chocolate

“Hello Dad.”

    “Ah, come in son, close the door.”

    “How are you?”

    “Not too bad … shut the door, I said.”

    “It’s alright, it’s less …”

    “Close the door, please?”

    I did as I had been asked.

    “They watch you … keep walking past … especially that black one.”

    “The Asian girl, she seems very nice, she always has a smile when she lets me in.” I paused; the look he gave me would have curdled fresh milk.

    “Anyway,” I continued, “They’re just keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re alright.”

    “They’re watching … they want to know what you’re up to, day and night. Always looking in … there’s no privacy here.”

    He sat back, closed his eyes having apparently run out of steam.

    I asked gently, “Has the doctor been?”

    “Yeah, another black un … they’ve taken over …”

    “Now Dad, you mustn’t …”

    “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

    We sat in silence and again he closed his eyes. After he had blinked and given a slight cough, I tried again.

    “Did he examine …”

    “She,” he shouted, “A young woman … they know nuthin …”

    “Did she examine your legs?”

    “Yeah, had a look.”

    “And?”

    “I told you, she said nuthin … ‘I’ll report to Matron Mr Ellis, you can put your socks on now and pull down your trousers.’”

    “And have you asked Matron?”

    “Is that door closed?”

    “Yes, why are you worrying about the door?”

    “Cos a door’s not a door unless it’s closed.”

    Frowning, I decided not to pursue the subject. We sat in silence once more and I thought he might have dropped off to sleep, until he asked, “Were there any matches last night?”

    “Oh yes, the Villa had a good win, four one …”

    “Which blind school were they playing?” he chuckled.

    We discussed football, until I sensed that he could no longer be bothered to think about what I was saying.

    “Well, I think I’ll see about it,” I said. “I’ll come again Sunday morning, about eleven.”

    “Righto lad,” he smiled, and as I turned to say cheerio, added. “Leave it open Tom; it gets hot and stuffy with the door closed.”

About the Author

Having spent the best part of thirty-five years writing reports on such subjects as ‘Provision of Caravan Sites for Travellers’ and ’Aspects of Pest Control in the Urban Environment’, Roger Noons began even more creative writing in 2006, when he completed a screenplay for a friend who is an amateur film maker. After the film was made, he wrote further scripts and having become addicted, began to pen short stories and poems. He occasionally produces memoirs and other non-fiction. He has begun to perform his poems, and has just published ’An A to Z by RLN’, an anthology of 26 short stories. He intends by the end of the year to have followed that up with a novella.

He is a member of two Writers Groups and tries his hardest to write something every day. As well as CaféLit, he has had credits in West Midlands newspapers, The Daily Telegraph, Paragraph Planet, Raw Edge and a number of Anthologies.

Roger is a regular contributor to the CaféLit site and a couple of his stories have been selected for theBest of CaféLit 2012.