THE TURNING POINT – A short story by Penny Nair Price
The newsagent opened his door at 7 am and waited for his favourite and most reliable customer, serving one or two others before his arrival. At 7.45, or as near as dammit, the white stick poked round the door and Frederick Orange entered, with his familiar expression of a mixture of pleasure and distaste playing round his mouth, as he tapped his way to the counter and bought his lucky dip ticket for the Friday draw, and a pack of his favourite cigarettes, together with some extra strong mints.
The newsagent felt deep sympathy for Frederick Orange, being that he was partially blind and had to wear a hearing aid in both ears – apparently caused by a motorcar accident before he moved here, according to Frederick himself. He also heard that Frederick loved cooking, despite being partially sighted and considered the mixture of pleasure and distaste playing round his mouth reflected firstly having enjoyed yet another good meal and secondly, having to deal with his disabilities bravely as he went on his way to work Monday to Friday. Frederick was certainly not apparently a rich man. He caught a bus to town on the corner every morning, regular as clockwork, and came home around six thirty pm each night, sometimes stopping to have his ticket checked, and always, but always buying a few groceries too, even if it was only tea or coffee and milk.
Frederick was quite prone to launching into a monologue if the newsagents was quiet, especially after being told for the nth time with the nth lottery ticket that he was not a winner. He would talk about the accident that had left him almost blind and deaf, and all the treatment he had had, and actually the newsagent often went to bed with this last thing on his mind before going to sleep and first thing on his mind the next morning. But Frederick was still his favourite customer. The newsagent liked his reliability – it gave a framework to his week. Passing trade of car drivers who would pop in occasionally were irksome to him. His was not a thriving business in fact. The supermarkets had taken away tobacco, soft drinks and sweet sales, and there was a lot of paperwork to be done each day to keep the books straight, as well as dealing with deliveries, shelf stacking and paying all the bills on time.
One day, the newsagent woke up and opened the shop as usual and at 7:45 Frederick Orange did not come in. This went on for a whole two weeks, and the newsagent suddenly found that instead of missing Frederick Orange, he was enjoying the change it had on him, not seeing him or having to listen to him every time it was quiet. He found he was engaging in conversation with the mothers of kids, who came to buy sweets, who, when chatting, would reach out for one or two extra things and that his profits were turning around.
His profits turning around was late in the day. For a long period the shop had become an albatross around his neck, and he was in debt up to the hilt, and owed money on a huge loan. So, his thoughts of poor Frederick Orange had gradually become distant, and his thoughts about going bankrupt had taken their place.
Maisie, a mother of five, had taken Frederick’s “slot” for the fourteen days when he did not enter the shop, and occupied the newsagent’s time chatting, yet rarely complaining what a busy experience she had with her kids. One day, she told the newsagent that a strange man called Frederick Orange was a neighbour and he had no time for children or animals. On top of that, he apparently knocked on the walls at night and did he know him? The newsagent played ignorant expecting extra gossip and discovered more about Frederick Orange. He never gave money to carol singers or treats to trick or treaters, and Maisie’s kids had looked through his window, and seen a pin board above his fireplace, where he used a pin with a coloured head to pin his lottery ticket up. The newsagent always used to throw Frederick’s tickets away for him, except for the one time he had won ten pounds; Maisie’s final word on Frederick Orange was that apparently he was a rich man, but a miser, and his fortnight’s holiday away was about the only time he had gone on holiday for seven years. Most of his money was squirreled away into a bank account, and he never splashed out on anything or indeed anyone.
The newsagent knew that Frederick Orange trusted him implicitly. For years he had thrown Frederick’s losing tickets away so the day Frederick returned from his holiday and came to get his ticket checked was just like any other. The newsagent had been doing a bit of thinking, too. Why did Frederick never lend an ear to his problems? It had all been so one-way.
It was only a matter of weeks later that Frederick hit the jackpot – six numbers came up, but he never knew. All he did know was that his trips to the local newsagents were no more. The newsagent had shut up shop and gone – left the country by all accounts. Rumour had it that he’d won the lottery. Frederick felt so alone and betrayed, as he’d never said goodbye. As for his awful neighbour – Maisie, who used to get her kids to try and pick his pockets and act up at night, which disturbed him only when his hearing aids were in, she told Frederick herself that she’d told his pal the newsagent what an old miser he was, and that he shouldn’t have trusted the newsagent, being that he was part blind and part deaf, how could he ever trust a bent guy like him to tell him if his ticket had won or not? Life was sure one big lottery for poor Frederick, and the turning point in the newsagent’s life was when he decided he didn’t give a damn for Frederick any more – it was dog eat dog and no trust no rust. At last he was having a great time!
