The 16th Jan 2010 WriteOnSite Winning Entry
The first few numbers we tried were no good. Either the phone rang out and no-one answered, or we picked numbers that didn’t exist and the line was just dead.
But then, on my second go, the phone rang out – and someone picked up. I jumped and landed on Rob’s toe and then I heard an old woman’s voice say her number. “Three seven five – “
I nudged Rob and he pressed the two pence into the slot. Connected!
“Hello?” she said, sounding wary and a bit surprised, as though her phone didn’t ring very often.
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I’d never done this before. It had been Rob’s idea. He always had the best ideas for whiling away boring Sunday afternoons.
Rob was kicking me now. I’d have to do it or he’d tell everyone I was a sissy. He’d stop calling for me any more after school or at weekends.
“Hello, madam!” I turned back to the receiver, that I was gripping tightly in my hand. I tried to make my voice sound older than my ten years. “Er – guess what? It’s your lucky day! I’m calling from Radio One!”
Robbie stuffed his hand into his mouth and slapped my back. We were squashed up together in the phone booth. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was going to be OK. This was going to be fun.
“Really?” she said.
I didn’t think someone of her age would have heard of Radio One but she seemed to believe me, so I carried on.
“I’m pleased to tell you, you’ve won a prize in our competition!”
The old woman gave a gasp and I almost dropped the receiver but Rob kicked me and urged me on with a jab of his head.
“Well, what have I won?” She sounded quite excited by now. I couldn’t believe that I was getting away with it.
“A holiday!” I blurted out.
Robbie slapped his head with his hand. I’d gone too far. But it was too late to back out now.
“Really? Oh my goodness –where to?”
For a second I felt like the genie in Aladdin, granting wishes, making people happy. I’d forgotten that there was actually no holiday to give away.
“To Tenby!” I said. We went to Wales every year. It was the only place I could think of. Then I went through the rigmarole of taking the woman’s name and address. I pretended to write it down. She named a street a few roads from mine and my stomach lurched. I had probably seen her. I walked down that road every day to school and back.
Rob was bored by now - he’d pushed his way out of the booth and was kicking a stone by the kerb.
“And just one more thing - “ she said, as I tried to hang up. “My husband is disabled. Will that be a problem?”
“Dis – disabled?”
“Yes, he’s in a wheelchair. We can still go on the holiday though, can’t we?”
I slammed the phone down and pushed the door open.
“What’s the matter?” Rob said, looking round.
“Shurrup,” I said. “I’m going home. It smells in there. Stupid game that was.”
The next morning, as I walked to school down Augustus Avenue, I crossed the road before I reached number seven. That was the house I’d phoned. The curtains were still closed.
At four O’clock, as I walked past in the other direction, swinging my bag, the door suddenly opened and a man in a wheelchair appeared. Behind him, a grey-haired woman was struggling to push him out of the door.
I stopped and stared and the man suddenly looked up and saw me.
He looked crotchety, grumpy. I opened my mouth to ask if they wanted a hand but at that moment she managed to lower the wheelchair down onto the mat. They were out of the house. For a second, my eyes met those of the woman. She looked tired. She looked a bit like my Nana. She looked like she could do with a holiday.
Copyright © 2008 Rob Richardson. All Rights Reserved.