THE LUCKY SHIRT!

Bent over the handlebars of his old scooter, Colin braved the driving wind and rain. There were holes in his gloves and his hands were wet. He mentally crossed his fingers that he would make it home. The scooter was not always reliable.

He made it. Just! Climbing the stairs to his garret flat, he left puddles as he went. He needed new waterproofs too.

Having unlocked his front door, he dripped his way to the bathroom. Once dried off, he put on an old track suit and went into his room. The room, with its tiny kitchen corner and mini shower room, was it. The whole flat, but he loved it. From his window he could see the rooftops of the town, and beyond them, the range of the high mountains that encircled it.

On the bed sat Mog. A large tabby with green eyes who had wandered in through an open window last summer and had stayed.

Colin joined Mog on the bed. What a day it had been! Bad, bad, bad! His boss had been in one of those impossible to please moods. The girl he'd been out with a couple of times had phoned to say that she didn't want to see him again. Paying his rent had left him short of money. He hadn't had time to do even a small shop.

He opened the freezer compartment of his small fridge. A solitary fish meal stared back at him. At least he had that and it was something he could share with Mog. He perched on the bed again. He was tired and felt very flat. Common sense told him that he needed a meal, something light on the telly to follow and a good night's sleep.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs outside his front door. Heavy breathing accompanied them. There was a knock on the door. Colin sighed. It was Mrs Jones from the ground floor flat. In the six months since he had moved in she had taken to mothering him. He did not need or want mothering. After all, he had one of his own, even though she was a long way away.

He opened the door. Clutching her ample bosom Mrs Jones gasped, "Those stairs will be the death of me!" While waiting to get her breath back, she thrust a covered plate at him. "I heard you come in" she said,"I've made a treacle tart. I thought you'd like a slice."
Colin thought that that solved the problem of pudding. He thanked her and took the plate. Mrs Jones' vast bulk advanced into the room. "Are you going to the dance on Saturday?" He looked at her
blankly. "It's the one they hold every year at the town hall."
Colin shook his head. "Don't think so Mrs Jones, I'm not much one for dancing."
"Do you good" she urged, "You'd meet people of your own age, make new friends. You haven't done much socialising since you moved here."
Colin thought longingly of his fish supper. "I'll think about it" he compromised.
Mrs Jones made her exit. "If you decide to go" she added darkly, "I"ll lend you Ray's lucky shirt."

After she'd gone Colin started to laugh. A lucky shirt! He imagined a shirt covered in horseshoes, lucky black cats and four-leafed clovers. The mind boggled! Still, it was a kind thought. He'd met her son Ray. A snappy dresser, to say the least, with a multitude of girlfriends.

The week wore on. Some overtime improved his financial position. Colin decided to go to the dance. He'd buy himself a trendy outfit and make his own luck!!

Copyright Jacqueline Hastings 2009