The front door was white with an autumn wreath hanging from the doorknocker. Leaves and berries of yellow, orange and brown stared at me through the eye of this council house. Three sets of wellies, one large and two small, stood beside the door. I wasn’t sure whether to knock or ring the doorbell. I have been stood by a rung bell for a long time before, not knowing whether there is no one home or just a low battery. I couldn’t leave without the papers in my hand being finalised. They send men to these types of jobs as women aren’t assertive enough, plus my broad shoulders can be intimidating which helps with proceedings. I decided to try the door handle to avoid confusion. It was unlocked and the wooden frame slowly swung open.
Inside the door sat a little girl playing with a toy, at the bottom of the stairs. She had been put on the naughty step for not eating all her peas that took up over half of her dinner plate. The little girl had a soft pink ribbon running through the ponytail of her hair. Twisted among the strands with a frayed end that was tucked into her mouth. I bent down upon one knee and asked where her mother was.
“Lost in the kitchen with music so loud it hurts my eyes” she said.
I headed through to the dining room where a plump little boy sat eating chocolate cake smothered in orange custard. “Want to share?” He offered. I gave a polite shake of the head and sat opposite him. As he lifted each spoonful of goodness to his lips, he smiled a little before opening wide. He had a gap between his two front teeth and couldn’t have been older than five. Then I heard the music coming from the door behind me. Celine Dion on volume ten.
She was stood with her back to me, staring out the garden window as she washed some pots. There was a bottle of fairy-liquid on the ledge, stood upside down with just a few drops inside. I watched as she ate the peas from a plate before she scrubbed it clean.
I felt judged. A tear fell upon my cheek.
I tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to jump before she hastily turned down the music.
“I work for the Crown Court” I said, “here for the collection of overdue rent.”
Her smile fell with her shoulders. The little boy had finished his pudding and I could hear his spoon scrape the china. The wind blew outside so hard that a tree in the garden, tapped its branches upon the kitchen window. She silently wiped her hands dry upon her flowery apron and pushed a piece of her hair behind her ear.
I left the house with the paperwork in hand. Balance paid in full. I signed the check myself.
REDSMITHS and ROBINS 