Something For Nothing

Something For Nothing

By Jane Scoggins

    I am definitely not religious and have had no interest in God, but I find myself sitting in a church and feeling content. I haven't been in a church except for an occasional wedding or a funeral, and I have never sung a hymn or said prayers. So what am I doing here?

     About a week ago I was going to the corner shop when I saw a man about to topple into the road in front of a car. I was just in time to reach out and grab his coat and haul him out the way. He fell back onto the pavement whilst cars slammed on their breaks and had a near crash themselves. An angry driver got out of his car to check if the man was OK and give him a mouthful of bad language. The man on the pavement, although clearly in shock from a potentially horrible accident, mumbled his apologies to the driver, for not looking where he was going. The angry driver, feeling exonerated, got back in his car and drove away; as did the other cars who had squealed to a sudden halt. The pedestrian was an older man, and appeared shaken, so I took his arm and directed him to the wooden bench nearby, where the dog walkers usually tie up their hounds whilst they go into the  shop. When he had got his breath back he spoke with a soft Irish accent.

     'Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t know what I was thinking of. That could have been really nasty. I am a stupid old fool. I don’t know if I was away with the leprechauns or just not looking where I was going.'

    We both sat quietly for a few moments absorbing the enormity of what could have been before he continued.

     'It must be the luck of the Irish, is all I can say. I cant afford to have any mishaps. I am going to my son's, and he is expecting his Dad to arrive in one piece' he said smiling weakly.

      When he'd composed himself, we went into the shop. While he was at the newspaper stand, I went to buy a stamp for the job application I was posting. I waited for him to pay for his newspaper so I could say goodbye.

     ' Thank you again for your kindness' he reiterated. At the same time thrusting a large bar of Galaxy chocolate into my hand. I did not decline. I thought it was nice of him to want to give me a little thank you, and I find chocolate difficult to resist. He followed this up with

    'Can you spare a few minutes to sit with me on the bench before I go on my way?'

    ' Of course I can'  I replied.

  What else could I say when he had given me the chocolate; and anyway, I was in no rush.

    ' If you are still feeling a bit shaken, would you like me to phone someone, your son perhaps?’

 I volunteered

   'Oh no, he will be at work, and besides, he lives in Australia!' he laughed

     ‘When I said I was going to my son's I didn’t tell you the whole story. I am going to Australia to live with my son, and his wife. So all the more reason why I shouldn’t be knocked down in the road before I go, and not be fit for travel, or even worse!

  'When are you going?'

     'In a few days. My house is sold, and my bags are packed. My wife died two years ago and they have been asking me to go out to Australia since then. Truth is though, I am afraid of the flying, and the whole business of travelling so far across the world makes me nervous. As you have seen for yourself, I can’t even cross the road without mishap! The only comfort is that my wife will be coming with me.'

   'But I thought she had died' I said, confused.

     'I am taking her ashes with me' he said slowly, as if to a halfwit.

    When he got up from the bench, two lottery tickets fell from the fold in the newspaper he was holding. Picking them up, I held them out to him. He put his hand up in a gesture of refusal, saying   ‘No, you keep them, they are no good to me. I don’t know why I got them. I shall be across the world by Saturday, and if you win a tenner, good luck to you. I have always bought lucky dip lottery tickets for me and my wife, and we would check the numbers on a Sunday after Mass. We always said we would visit our boy in Australia if we won enough for the air fares. I have kept up the habit, I don’t know why, because there's no pleasure in it without her. And I don't need the air fare money.

      'That's kind of you. And thank you for the chocolate too'

        He gave a little dismissive wave of his hand.

        'It's nothing compared to what you did for me. But I would be grateful if you would do me one more kindness. Would go into a church and say a little prayer to Our Blessed Lord, and St Christopher, and maybe light a votive candle, to keep us safe on our journey and for good luck when I get to Australia?'

  ' Of course I will' I said.

   I knew that I wouldn't, but I wanted to be kind. What's a little lie now and then to keep someone nice happy. I know all about lies and this one rated less than 5 on a scale of 100 in my book.

      My mother lied to me all the time when I was young, with promises of this and that. Promises that rarely materialised, like dinner money, outings, new trainers, clothes, or a trip to the pictures. When confronted she would say I would have to get a paper round or a Saturday job at the hardware shop nearby that was always advertising.

       'You don't get something for nothing in this life.' she would say.

         In my early teens I did not have the confidence or the words to tell my harsh, unobservant mother about the sort of price I was expected to pay with one of the bullyboys on the paper round, or the sly touchy feely man at the hardware shop. All I knew was was that it was just not worth a new pair of trainers.

      In the church, I have discovered what a votive candle is and have put a £2 in the money tin beneath the black iron frame holding the eight rows of little metal shelves on which are placed the lighted candles. I lit a candle from one already burning, and placed it in a vacant space on one of the shelves. It looks pretty with the dozen or more candles flickering their warm gold light. I go back to the pew and prepare my words to deliver to God, and St Christopher, as requested by the old gent. I knew nothing of St Christopher, until I googled him to discover that he is the patron saint of travellers. So now that makes sense.

   I say the words under my breath.

   'Dear God and St Christopher. Please take care of the old gentleman and his wife in the urn, who have gone to Australia. I am sorry that I haven't believed in you, but I never thought I had reason to.’

Camelot have confirmed that one of the lottery tickets has come up trumps. It is a substantial amount and will make a huge difference to my so far rather pathetic life. I can move from my rented bedsit to a nicer flat. I can buy new clothes for job interviews, and if I get the job I applied for, or another one, I will take driving lessons and buy a little second hand car. I don’t intend on being extravagant. I just thank my lucky stars that after all, I seem to have got something for nothing, via the luck of the Irish, and intend to make the most of it.

    

Copyright Jane Scoggins