Yet another English story, no doubt exasperating my US friends. I make no apologies for writing them, it's the world I know and whilst we might share a resemblance of language, many customs and habits are quite different from yours. For instance in this story, you'll note our paper delivers actually deliver the papers to our door, instead of throwing them across the porch, or stuffing them in a tube at the end of the drive. Read on - but you might find other little gems to puzzle and amaze you...
*****
As I walked past the front door on my way to the bathroom in my small, new ground floor apartment , looking forward to my first bath in my own, my very own, after a weeks travelling on business, the evening newspaper shot through the letterbox, startling me as it landed with a thud on the carpet.
"Shit!" came the expletive, just audible over the sound of my TV and the howling gale outside.
There was no one else in my pad, the TV showed a cookery programme so the sound must have come from outside. I opened the door, not being afraid although it was dark. I'm nearly six feet tall and I work out every day at my company gym. Stooping in my porch, looking extremely bedraggled and hassled was the paper delivery chap.
"Hi! Was it you I heard swear?"
He looked up at me from his stooped position, arms full of soggy newspapers and trying to balance a cycle.
"Sorry. didn't mean to. It's just that my bag split and..."
The wind blew a burst of rain onto me and I covered up, but not quite quick enough to conceal the flash of thigh he had obviously got, stopping his words. It was freezing cold and I wore a dressing gown and very little else. December in England, Christmas a few days away and the sudden snowfall we had been surprised by in the South had thawed and replaced with slushy wet and windy weather, just in time for the festive season - great!
"Hey! Don't worry. I'm used to swearing, it just surprised me that's all," I grinned down at him pleasantly.
He shrugged and the glimmer of a sheepish grin curled his big, pink, rubbery lips. I grabbed a long wool coat off the hanger, threw it round me and stepped outside, carefully extracting the door key.
"Looks like you need help sonny," I suggested and he frowned, what the fuck for?
"No no it's OK. These are spares, it's my idea just in case papers get damaged, I bring a few out, you're the last on my round." he told me as I wrestled the cycle from his grasp.
"Well that's very thoughtful and organised I must say, now let me help. Stick your bike there," I told him, shoving it against a wall. "Jeez! its cold out here...and wet. You're soaked through."
I was getting that way too. It was blowing a real hoolie. He muttered something and gathered up the newspapers, trying to hold them together, but failing in the strong wind.
"You know, some people would have just left them. I'm glad to see you didn't," I ventured, gathering a few stray supplements for him. Then I remembered. "You Syd?" I asked.
He nodded, standing up and I noticed how slight and short he was for a nineteen year old.
"Oh I got your Christmas card, but been away on business for a few days. Was going to pop your tip down to the shop," I grinned. "You can save me a trip, want it now?"
It was common practice for the paper boys to slot a card into the customers papers, just before Christmas. They deserve something and I always paid them handsomely. I was loaded and they provided a service. He shrugged and then nodded.
"Right come in, bring those in and we'll dump them properly," I gestured at the papers as I keyed the door.
We got into the hall and I bundled the lot up and slopped through to the kitchen utility in my slippers. My feet were freezing. When I returned, Syd was shivering so much he was almost a blur. Water dripped from him, on my expensive carpet, but it could stand rain and I saw that his worn Nikes had the top ripped on one foot. His tight crinkled black hair was a mass of sparkling rain drops.
"Why don't you wear a hat Syd?" I asked ushering him through to the kitchen.
I sniffed the fresh paint and surfaces as I always do when I relish the newness of the place. Syd's ripped trainer squelched with each step. He shrugged, his main gesture obviously.
"Haven't got one."
"Yeah but there's a hood in here," I argued, grabbing his anorak collar.
He shrugged again.
"Look take it off and your trainers and warm through eh? I'll get you a coffee or something...tea perhaps and you'll get a specially big tip I promise. I appreciate what you lads do for us singles in this world. Go on, I won't bite."
Syd pondered and studied me and I saw his gaze slip to my bare legs. The gown came just above my knees. I waited patiently and as his eyes returned up to my face, instinctively, I pulled the dressing gown, a now scruffy, well worn towelling version from the Ritz in Paris, round my chest.
"Coffee then?" I asked brightly, he didn't answer as he slid his wet anorak off.
I grabbed it and hung it over a chair back, then switched on a fan heater aimed towards it. He nodded and grinned and then bashed his hands against his jeans, spraying water over the tiled floor. They were sodden wet too; I can remember on ski holidays, people trying to save money and ski in jeans instead of proper wear, they get soaked. He stood near the breakfast bar. I poured him a black coffee from the filter and shoved the cream and sugar at him. He took both and held the mug in his hands warming them. I saw the delicacy of his long fingers, black tendrils with almost gaudy pink contrasting beneath. They didn't match the brutal features of his pugnacious negro face, but I love that dramatice change in skin pigmentation in coloured folk.
"Look. I was just going to have a bath and chill out with a pizza. Its been a long week, so while I'm doing that, why don't you warm through down here. Take your tee shirt off and your jeans if you want and I'll bang this heater up real fast and you can sit over it for half an hour. On it if you want," I giggled.
Quite why I had taken this waif under my roof in such magnanimous fashion I don't know. Was it the Christmas spirit creeping in? Up to now I had not been the slightest Chrissmassy. My partner had fucked off two months ago for someone else and it had shook me to the core and I was still mystified as was everyone who knew him.
"Gotta get back," he slurped, the hot coffee burning his lips and he wiped them with the back of his hand.
"OK," I answered. "Up to you, dinner ready is it?"
