Oxford Blind Writers
Ron Sears
Security
Tom leaned contentedly back in his chair. On the table, by his side,
stood a glass of beer. The television, already tuned to the sports
channel, came to life. This was to be a good night - he could feel it in
his bones. The match was between Manchester United and Chelsea. He had
been a supporter of the Manchester team for well over thirty years.
He took a long pull at his pint as the match got under way. A quick
attack by Chelsea soon had them in the lead and he cursed under his
breath. In his opinion they had spoilt the game by spending millions to
buy the best players. The play went from one end to the other until
Manchester was awarded a penalty. Just as Ronaldo was about to take the
spot-kick the doorbell rang. Grumbling to himself, and thinking: ‘Who on
earth is this at this time of night?’ Tom went to the door.
As he opened it, he heard the roar from the TV as Ronaldo put the ball
into the net. On the doorstep was a young lad of about fourteen dressed
in the uniform of the young. Tee- shirt, jeans and trainers.
‘Excuse me mister, could you give me a glass of water?’
Tom hesitated and then said: ‘Yes okay, come into the kitchen.’
As he poured the glass of water he asked: ‘What are you doing out so
late? This is a bad area to be in.’
The boy said: ‘I’m going to see my mates in the next village and I came
over very thirsty, so I called here on the off chance to ask for a
drink.’
‘Do you like football? I’m watching the match on the TV,’ said Tom.
‘Not much,’ replied the boy, ‘I’m more into cricket. I know it’s a
slower game, but I’m a spin bowler and I love to use my skills to take
out the opposing batsmen.’ ‘I play for my school,’ he added.
There was a lot of cheering from the next room and they both stood in
the doorway to see that one of the Chelsea players was being shown a red
card.
‘That should make it easier for my team,’ said Tom.
‘Could I use your toilet before I go,’ asked the boy?
‘Alright, it’s up the stairs, the first door on the right.’
Tom turned back to the room and sat down again, his attention on the
match. After some time he heard the boy call out from the hall.
‘Thanks mister, I’ll be on my way now.’
‘Okay lad, have a good evening and be careful.’ He closed and locked the
door, and went back to the match.
Tom finished his drink and turned off the TV. He was quite pleased
because Man United had won the match which would keep them on top of the
Premiership.
He would now go to his club and go over the match with his mates. He
went upstairs to shave and change. As he changed into a clean shirt and
tie, he thought about the young lad who had visited him earlier. Strange
he didn’t like football. Most of the lads on this estate were
football-mad. He picked up the phone to order a taxi to pick him up in
half an hour. He didn’t like walking out late at night - well you didn’t
know what might happen with all the violence around the area.
After taking a last look in the mirror, he went to pick up his wallet.
‘That’s funny,’ he thought, ‘I’m sure I put it on the dresser.’ He
searched in his other jackets, to no avail. It was then his thoughts
turned to the boy who had called. Surely he wouldn’t take it, would he?
He finally concluded after searching some more that it must have been
stolen. What a fool he had been letting a stranger into his home. He
picked up the phone and reported the incident to the police giving them
a full description.
As the taxi arrived he walked down the stairs. It was then he noticed a
yellow slip of paper on the mat. It was a note from the Neighbourhood
Watch.
‘We have been asked to look out for a young lad aged about 14 who has
been conning elderly people by asking for a glass of water, or to use
the toilet.’
Tom racked his brain for a phrase which refused to come to the front of
his memory. Something to do with stable doors and horses.
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