The Fare
by Ron A. Sewell
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Doing the right thing.
_____________________________________________________________________
The call came for Charlie Stead at the end of a slow day. He drove along the pot-holed road. Checking the address, he stopped outside a large dilapidated Victorian property. The gate hung on one hinge. Nature had reclaimed the large garden. Cheered by the thought of a fare he walked up the path, ascended the six worn stone steps and pressed the bell. No noise came from within and he tried again, nothing.
Annoyed that this might be another wind-up his fist pounded on the door. Faint footsteps sounded on a tiled floor before one half of the double door opened. She was frail, her face uneasy, grey-haired; her skin wrinkled with time but her eyes appeared youthful. He guessed she was in her late seventies or eighties.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice soft. 'Would you be so kind as to help me with my case? I’m not as strong as I once was.”
“No problem.” His eyes adjusted to the dimness as he followed her along a wood- panelled hall with doors leading from both sides. An uncarpeted staircase rose into the dark. In a spacious room sheets covered every piece of furniture. On the dark stained wood floor a small case rested.
“It’s all I have,” she said.
Charlie picked up the case and for an instant was staggered by its weight. “What you got in here, love? The Crown jewels.”
A thin smile formed on her lips. “My husband died many years ago and we were never blessed with children. In that small case is my life.”
“Look, love, I’ll put this in the car and come back for you. Don’t want you falling down those steps, do we?”
She closed the door and locked it. “I’ll wait right here. You are very kind.”
Charlie ran back and with care took her arm, descended the steps and walked to the car.
She stopped, turned, tilting her head to the upper floors. She glanced away as if the recollections were sad. Tears formed and ran over her cheeks.
“Are you going away?” asked Charlie.
She shook her head as if amused. “Forever, young man, forever. Please,” she fumbled in her purse and removed a card, “take me here.”
“Lavender House. Not sure where that is.”
She smiled reassuringly. “Are you in a hurry?”
“Any reason?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I was born, grew up, married and will die in this town. Would you drive me along the high street one last time and then on to the park?”
Charlie checked the time.
“Sorry, I forget that others have a life.”
“No problem. A one bed council flat, pizza or fish and chips, describes my existence.”
A long silence followed. “Can I sit in the front passenger seat?”
Charlie helped her in and fastened the seat belt.
The blue Ford Sierra eased along the road while she chatted constantly about who lived when and where. The church where she was married was now a carpet warehouse. He stopped at the park.
“I’ve asked for too much but I’d love one more go on the swings.”
Charlie smiled. “And why not? Come on, love, take my arm.”
She sat on the one swing that worked, gently moving back and forth. “When I was a girl, I’d come here and chat to the boys.”
The street lights came on as the last remnants of the sun disappeared.
“It’s time,” she said.
“Hold my arm,” said Charlie.
“You’re a good boy. Not many care for an old woman as you have.”
“You remind me of my old mum.”
At the car she slid into the passenger seat.
Charlie found the home and drove up the long winding drive, stopped and helped her out.
“How much do I owe you?”
Charlie peered into the car. “Shit,” he muttered, “I forgot to trip the meter.” He lifted his head and smiled. “It’s on me.”
She hugged him and he held her tight. “Take this and thank you.” She pressed a few notes into his hand, turned and entered the building.
He shoved the money into his pocket and stood there for a few minutes. “I’ll come and make sure she's alright in a couple of days,” he uttered. “Time for me fish and chips.”
In the café he ordered his favourite, cod and chips with mushy peas.
The waitress placed the overflowing plate in front of him. “Had a busy day, Charlie?”
“Bloody awful, Sheena.” From his pocket he pulled the crumpled notes. He stared at five fifty pound notes.
She chuckled. “Couldn’t have been that bad. Fancy a coffee at my place?”
That night Charlie couldn’t sleep. He leant against the headboard, his mind in a whirl. By six he gave up trying, he showered, dressed and ate breakfast.
At Lavender House, he stood at the entrance and removed a buff envelope from his pocket. He checked its contents. With determination he entered and found reception.
“Can I help you?” asked a blonde middle-aged woman.
“I hope so. Last night I dropped a grey-haired woman here at eight. It was dark and she paid too much.”
Her smile was grim. “You must be Charlie. She said you’d be back and I was to give you this.”
He smiled and placed his envelope on the desk. “This is her change.”
The woman grimaced. “I’m sorry, she died during the night.”
Confused, he picked up the envelopes, thrust them in his pocket and left. Why he ended up in her street was a mystery. He sat back and read her letter.
Dear Charlie, I’m pleased you came back.
To my lawyer, Brian Menges, 10 High Street, Wickham. This letter is my last will and testament. Everything I have is given without condition to Charlie, (a taxi driver) a man who made my final day wonderful.
Three signatures followed with names and addresses in block capitals.
He stared at the sky. “Why me?”
Swearwords: None.
Description: Doing the right thing.
_____________________________________________________________________
The call came for Charlie Stead at the end of a slow day. He drove along the pot-holed road. Checking the address, he stopped outside a large dilapidated Victorian property. The gate hung on one hinge. Nature had reclaimed the large garden. Cheered by the thought of a fare he walked up the path, ascended the six worn stone steps and pressed the bell. No noise came from within and he tried again, nothing.
Annoyed that this might be another wind-up his fist pounded on the door. Faint footsteps sounded on a tiled floor before one half of the double door opened. She was frail, her face uneasy, grey-haired; her skin wrinkled with time but her eyes appeared youthful. He guessed she was in her late seventies or eighties.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice soft. 'Would you be so kind as to help me with my case? I’m not as strong as I once was.”
“No problem.” His eyes adjusted to the dimness as he followed her along a wood- panelled hall with doors leading from both sides. An uncarpeted staircase rose into the dark. In a spacious room sheets covered every piece of furniture. On the dark stained wood floor a small case rested.
“It’s all I have,” she said.
Charlie picked up the case and for an instant was staggered by its weight. “What you got in here, love? The Crown jewels.”
A thin smile formed on her lips. “My husband died many years ago and we were never blessed with children. In that small case is my life.”
“Look, love, I’ll put this in the car and come back for you. Don’t want you falling down those steps, do we?”
She closed the door and locked it. “I’ll wait right here. You are very kind.”
Charlie ran back and with care took her arm, descended the steps and walked to the car.
She stopped, turned, tilting her head to the upper floors. She glanced away as if the recollections were sad. Tears formed and ran over her cheeks.
“Are you going away?” asked Charlie.
She shook her head as if amused. “Forever, young man, forever. Please,” she fumbled in her purse and removed a card, “take me here.”
“Lavender House. Not sure where that is.”
She smiled reassuringly. “Are you in a hurry?”
“Any reason?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I was born, grew up, married and will die in this town. Would you drive me along the high street one last time and then on to the park?”
Charlie checked the time.
“Sorry, I forget that others have a life.”
“No problem. A one bed council flat, pizza or fish and chips, describes my existence.”
A long silence followed. “Can I sit in the front passenger seat?”
Charlie helped her in and fastened the seat belt.
The blue Ford Sierra eased along the road while she chatted constantly about who lived when and where. The church where she was married was now a carpet warehouse. He stopped at the park.
“I’ve asked for too much but I’d love one more go on the swings.”
Charlie smiled. “And why not? Come on, love, take my arm.”
She sat on the one swing that worked, gently moving back and forth. “When I was a girl, I’d come here and chat to the boys.”
The street lights came on as the last remnants of the sun disappeared.
“It’s time,” she said.
“Hold my arm,” said Charlie.
“You’re a good boy. Not many care for an old woman as you have.”
“You remind me of my old mum.”
At the car she slid into the passenger seat.
Charlie found the home and drove up the long winding drive, stopped and helped her out.
“How much do I owe you?”
Charlie peered into the car. “Shit,” he muttered, “I forgot to trip the meter.” He lifted his head and smiled. “It’s on me.”
She hugged him and he held her tight. “Take this and thank you.” She pressed a few notes into his hand, turned and entered the building.
He shoved the money into his pocket and stood there for a few minutes. “I’ll come and make sure she's alright in a couple of days,” he uttered. “Time for me fish and chips.”
In the café he ordered his favourite, cod and chips with mushy peas.
The waitress placed the overflowing plate in front of him. “Had a busy day, Charlie?”
“Bloody awful, Sheena.” From his pocket he pulled the crumpled notes. He stared at five fifty pound notes.
She chuckled. “Couldn’t have been that bad. Fancy a coffee at my place?”
That night Charlie couldn’t sleep. He leant against the headboard, his mind in a whirl. By six he gave up trying, he showered, dressed and ate breakfast.
At Lavender House, he stood at the entrance and removed a buff envelope from his pocket. He checked its contents. With determination he entered and found reception.
“Can I help you?” asked a blonde middle-aged woman.
“I hope so. Last night I dropped a grey-haired woman here at eight. It was dark and she paid too much.”
Her smile was grim. “You must be Charlie. She said you’d be back and I was to give you this.”
He smiled and placed his envelope on the desk. “This is her change.”
The woman grimaced. “I’m sorry, she died during the night.”
Confused, he picked up the envelopes, thrust them in his pocket and left. Why he ended up in her street was a mystery. He sat back and read her letter.
Dear Charlie, I’m pleased you came back.
To my lawyer, Brian Menges, 10 High Street, Wickham. This letter is my last will and testament. Everything I have is given without condition to Charlie, (a taxi driver) a man who made my final day wonderful.
Three signatures followed with names and addresses in block capitals.
He stared at the sky. “Why me?”
About the Author
Ron A. Sewell was born in Leith, Edinburgh. At the age of fourteen, he ran away from home. Heading for the south of France, he found work as a deckhand on luxury yachts. On his return to the United Kingdom, he enlisted in the Royal Navy, eventually becoming a commissioned officer. During his career, he travelled the world, qualifying as an engineer, deck officer, boarding officer, a diver, and parachutist and for a time part of an Air Sea Rescue team. This has given him much experience and many ideas.
A writer for many years, Ron has penned numerous short stories and five complete novels. One of the novels, The Collectors, was published by Taylor Street Publishing in 2012.
A writer for many years, Ron has penned numerous short stories and five complete novels. One of the novels, The Collectors, was published by Taylor Street Publishing in 2012.