Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: BUSY (02/02/17)
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TITLE: Touche! | Previous Challenge Entry
By Danielle King
02/09/17 -
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Dolly died. Paramedics called in night. Needed transfer to hospital - ASAP. Refused. Stubborn old so-and-so. Gone!
The house phone rang. It was Betty from the Newsagent’s. “Shirl, hope I didn’t wake you, but I’ve just heard some sad news.”
I pulled on my slippers and shuffled to the window. It was dark still, and Dolly’s night light was visible through her closed curtains. This felt surreal.
Daylight was breaking as I sat at the kitchen table sipping a mug of sweet tea. I once heard it was good for shock… but wait… Dolly told me. That old busybody had a remedy for every ailment.
So where was she now, still in there? Who found her?
The indomitable Dolly Dawkins was not everyone’s cup of tea. Playing host to the longest snout in the known world, she thrived on poking it into other folk’s business.
But she’d always been there, number 40 over the road; the terraced houses backed by the rail track. Dolly D, an institution in her own right. I brewed another pot of tea.
The curtain was open when I next looked out. The window too. Someone had taken her and I chose not to think about where.
Strangely, I felt quite bereft. Dolly D was the norm. I grew up here and she lived in Railway Terrace then. Boiled egg on legs, the kids called her; fitting for the rotund torso teetering on spindly legs.
But those same pins would have done a race-horse proud for agility and the distance they covered in one day. An early riser, she would be pegging out by six; every day, whopping white bloomers flapping in the wind, hailing unfortunate rail commuters as they travelled to work.
This morning was strange indeed. Missing was the scrumptious whiff of streaky bacon and fried bread, sizzling in the pan. Her Jack died ten years ago, but like a regular buck-navvy, she still drank tea from his blue stripy pint-mug.
I glanced at the clock. She would have been on her rounds by now. Where would it be today? School helper, visiting the elderly maybe, or picking blackberries to make jam for the church bazaar? Who knew where she toddled off to?
But one thing was certain—she always came back armed with a wealth of information. In fact, when the police were making house to house enquiries regarding a spate of burglaries in the area, almost every resident pointed them towards Dolly’s doorstep. “She’ll know,” they said. And she did.
So what now? No need to peep behind the curtain before stepping outside. Or duck if she’s seen heading up the path. I mean, she wasn’t all bad, but she could talk the hind leg off a donkey.
A rap on the window made me splurt my tea. My heart stopped pounding only when I saw Mary’s anxious face peering at me. “It’s open,” I called.
“Sorry dear, did I startle you? I’m wondering what happened to Dolly in the night. She looked fine when I saw her putting the cat out at ten.”
“Someone must know, Mary. It’s upsetting me to think she had to die alone.”
“Yes, and after all she did for others. She was a lifeline to the old folk who couldn’t get out. They all spoke highly of her.”
A twinge of guilt surfaced, but I quickly stamped on it. After all, how could I find time to befriend the elderly or shop for the housebound?
No. Dolly was in a league of her own. And love her or hate her, credit where it’s due, she was a selfless and big-hearted woman.
I’d like to think she’d be rewarded in heaven, but first she’d have to get there. And so far as I know that would require her death, as she so carefully pointed out to me later that morning when she turned up on my doorstep, wanting to know whose gossiping tongue started the rumour of her demise.
“But, you were gone by six, Dolly. I thought they’d taken you to the Chapel of Rest.”
“I sat the night with Dorothy Dawson, until the Lord took her home. I called back to feed her cat. She snorted and strode off.
“The trouble with busybodies is they’re too occupied poking their nose into other folk’s affairs!”
Touché!
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