One good turn

“No. Honest. I’ve had such a shit day. Doing this will mean there’s been one good thing in it.”

Before Mark had time to reply the man had tapped his bank card on the sensor and paid exactly one hundred pound for Mark’s petrol. Mark had been proud of filling his tank so precisely.

Mark wanted to thank the man and offer his support for whatever was troubling him, but there was no time. He only just managed to get out onto the forecourt before the man drove off in his red Audi. Mark shouted his thanks and gave a thumbs up to the disappearing car. The man looked back and gave Mark a tentative smile.

Mark made good time across town and arrived twenty minutes before his girlfriend finished her shift. Parking anywhere near the hospital was impossible so he drove out on his free petrol in search of coffee, but then remembered he’d forgotten his wallet and had no means of paying.

She’d probably be late. That was what usually happened but even so, he always made sure he was there on time. He wanted to see the moment when she spotted his car and a smile crept up her weary face.

Tina didn’t smile. She started to, but then the sight of a woman in the passenger seat stopped her.

“Are you ok in the back? It’s just that Linda needs the leg space.”

Mark didn’t wait for her answer. He jumped back into the car and started the engine. Tina climbed into the back seat.

“I hope you don’t mind but I said we’d give Linda a lift. She’s broken her leg and hasn’t got enough money for a taxi.”

“But Mark. We need to be at my mum’s in half an hour.”

“Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time. I’ve got the route all planned on my satnav.”

“We can’t be late,” said Tina. “You don’t want to make a bad impression on your first meeting.”

Mark didn’t seem to hear. He launched into telling her about how he’d left his wallet in his other jacket and how a stranger had paid for his petrol.

“And it was a hundred quid I put in. Good job really. I’ll need that much to get back to Wales on Sunday.”

Linda was grateful for the lift but was relieved to get out of the car. She sensed that things were not going as smoothly for Mark as he thought. Mark really shouldn’t have believed Tina when said she would stay in the back seat because it was easier.

Linda waved them off and wished Mark good luck with the in-laws. She also made a point of thanking Tina and commenting on how generous they both were.

The path to her front door had four steep steps. It was difficult with crutches. Linda furtively checked no one was looking and then bent down to detach the plaster cast from her leg. She tucked the crutches under one arm and practically sprinted up the steps.

She was pleased to find milk in the fridge and sat with a cup of tea counting the spoils from her day’s work. She’d finished earlier than usual so hadn’t much, but she’d had enough of the cold drizzle.  Although it did make people more generous. Even the most hard-hearted recognised how horrible it was begging in the rain.

It still surprised her that she’d accepted a lift. It was only because the man had been waiting for his girlfriend. It’d seemed safe and it saved the bus fare.

Tiger hassled her legs and meowed enough to gain her attention but when Linda checked there was no cat food in the cupboard.

“Sorry Tiger. You’ll have to wait.”

The cat meowed again and head butted her hand. Linda stroked him, looked at the coins spread on the kitchen table and decided she’d enough to visit the corner shop. She could get food for both of them.

On her way out of the shop a boy knocked into her, causing her to drop her Battenberg cake, all three of the cat food pouches and her change.

The boy quickly jumped after the fallen coins and grabbed them.

“Hey,” said Linda.

“Here,” said the boy.

He held the coins out for Linda. She saw they were worth less than a pound.

“You keep them,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Go on love. You look like you need it more than me.”

The boy rushed through the door and Linda heard him asking for a scratch card.

“It’s for me mum,” he said.

The man at the counter laughed.

“Alex, you don’t live with your mum.”

“I meant me dad,” said Alex.

“Look. Why don’t you buy some sweets or something rather than wasting it on a lottery card which probably won’t win anyway?”

“But it might.”

“I can’t sell you a ticket. You’re too young.”

“Tell you what, Mr Davey. I’ll give you the money. You buy a ticket and then if you win you can give me the winnings. No one will know.”

Mr Davey laughed again.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Fifty-fifty split on any winnings and it’s a deal.”

“You can keep ten percent.”

“Fifty-fifty or no deal. And that’s my final offer.”

“Deal.”

Alex poured all his change into Mr Davey’s hand. Mr Davey returned a few coppers and a twenty pence piece.

“Which one?”

Alex pointed. “But don’t take the top card. Take the fourth one. Four is my lucky number.”

Mr Davey took the card and passed it to Alex, who scratched off the silver lining.

“I’ve won,” he shouted.

“Let’s see. Hrm. You’re right. You need to scratch those to see how much.”

Mr Davey lent over Alex as he slowly revealed that they’d won four pound.

“Right. That’s two pound for you and two for me.”

“That’s not fair. I gave you two pound for the ticket.”

“And you’ve won it back.”

Alex stared at the two pounds in his hand.

“But that means I haven’t won anything but, but, but you have!”

Mr Davey smiled, “I guess number four isn’t your lucky number after all.”

Alex popped sweets three at a time into his mouth as he left the shop. Two pounds worth of sweets probably wouldn’t last him long enough to get home.

Mr Davey registered the winning ticket and took two pound from the till for himself.

“What the heck,” he said and slid the money back.

This time he took a red ticket. He didn’t have a lucky number but red was his lucky colour. He quickly scratched the card and then looked up when the door opened.

“You won anything,” said the man as he came in.

“Nah. I should have kept the money. Anyway what can I get you?”

“A new life,” said the man.

“I don’t sell them. But you might win one.”

“Ah go on then. I’ll take one of those things.”

“Which one?”

“Any. You choose.”

“Red is my lucky colour. Not that I ever win. Here.”

“I don’t really know what I’m doing. Have I won?”

“You have. One hundred pound. Damn, if you’d bought that two minutes ago I’d be the one holding  the winning ticket.”

“Really? I’ve won a hundred pound. Well at least something has gone right today.”

As Mr Davey counted out the winnings he asked the man what he’d actually came in for.

“Alcohol to drown my sorrows.”

The man pointed to the top shelf. “You can afford the best now.”

“No. I’m going to buy something nice for my wife.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

“I’m not. She’s just kicked me out. But my mum says I shouldn’t give up so easily. What can I get for a hundred pound?”

The man walked out with chocolates, flowers, a very large card saying sorry and perhaps more importantly three jars of Biscoff spread. It was her favourite and he always forgot to buy it. He could call at the supermarket near home and get some of her favourite bread.

For only the second time that day the man smiled a tentative smile. He could drive his red Audi straight back up the motorway and be there in time for her supper. Who knows, with any luck Biscoff on toast might just get him through the door.