Writing for Fun
March 2017
What’s a job worth? - Diane Silverston
He stood, menacingly, in the doorway, glowering down at the two in front of him. He was tall, broad, with a bald head, piercing grey eyes and a huge pair of hands at the end of his crossed arms. He was suited and booted. He meant business. He knew his power and how to use it.
They were diminutive, thin, with tangled hair, pleading eyes and scrawny arms hanging by their sides. Dressed in tatters and shoeless, shivering with cold and fear, frightened and powerless.
His voice thundering through the darkening gloom. ‘What on earth are you doing here? This is no place for the likes of you. We don’t need you littering up the pavements!
‘But,’ quivered one pathetic voice, ‘we need help.’
‘Help?’ the deep voice boomed once more, ‘You’ll not get help here. Go on, off home with you both.’
‘We have no home. This is the only address we have.’
‘Who gave you this address?’
‘The lady in the church,’ came a weak reply. ‘She said to come to it.’
‘Which lady? Where? When?’
‘Days ago,’ the taller of the two mumbled. ‘We’ve been walking ever since.’
‘Where from?’
‘The village where the orphanage was, before it was burnt down.’
Just then the smaller child fell to the ground. Immediately the boy dropped down beside her and lifted her head.
‘She can’t go any further,’ he stated, ‘we need food and water. We’ve had nothing for days.’
The doorman looked at the two. What was he to do? His orders were ‘no one allowed in or out’. He knew how dangerous it was to disobey the manager. Many others had lost their jobs doing so, but could he ignore the children’s plight? But could he afford to lose4 his job? What should he do?
He heard a sound behind him, there in the doorway stood Alice, the hat-check girl. He just stared at her trying to block out the sight on the pavement.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked, peering around his bulk. ‘Who are they? What are they doing here?’
The doorman started to explain but she cut him short. ‘It might be more than your job’s worth to help them but it’s more than my life’s worth if I don’t.’
She slipped past him and knelt beside the two children. She could see that they were in a sorry state. She helped them up and started to direct them away from the door.
‘Where are you taking them?’ he enquired.
‘Home with me,’ she replied. ‘My attic might be small but at least it’s dry. I may have very little but enough to give them food and water.
He quickly put his hand in his pocket, pulled out some money and pushed it into her hand. ‘Use this.’
‘Thank you, Clive, you do have a soft heart really. You’re not as hard as you seem.’
As they left the little girl waved to him and a wry smile appeared on Clive’s face as he resumed his stance in the doorway.