This story is inspired by washing up the dishes with my cards tucked into my trouser pockets. My neighbour popped round to drop off some post put in the wrong pigeonhole, and her sharp raps on the door made me jump.
The Midnight Booking
'Be out by midnight,' the janitor had said. He was a gruff man, borderline patronising, and had repeated this instruction three times.
But Cherelle didn't worry too much. The village hall had a record of all their bookings in a large blue book, stored on a shelf near the front door. Their party was the only note for the weekend, with no bookings for the Sunday.
A joint twenty-first and seventieth is a big occasion, and required party games and a disco. Coffee and beer sat alongside the buffet platter on the long table in the hall. Rubbish piled up as standard.
They had aimed to finish at eight. But Cherelle let the teenagers have a drink and a dance, and the youngsters did not stumble onto the bus until ten. Then the elders needed taxis home and long goodbyes.
They were still on to meet the janitor's deadline. Aunts and uncles helped sweep half eaten sausage rolls and dead paper plates into bin bags. Pack away the speakers, and recycle the bottle. The hall needed sweeping, but the classic town hall giant brush did the trick.
However, at ten to midnight a pile of cups still had a film of brown muck round every rim, and the cutlery was filthy. The banner still needed taking down. Cherelle said she didn't mind finishing the washing up. No, she did not need a hand with the decorations. Yes she would drop off the keys tomorrow.
She was slooshing lukewarm water round the last of the teaspoons when the plastic clock, the kind you get in schools, ticked past the number twelve. She carried on. The kitchen items belonged to the building. Her late night cleaning was doing them a favour.
Something creaked in the main hall. She looked through the serving hatch in the tiny kitchen. Framed on the wooden stage was a man wearing a white face mask, tuxedo, white shoes, and white gloves. In his left hand was a golden stick, carved tadpoles swimming up and down the sides forever.
‘Did they not tell you to be out by midnight?’ The man said.
Cherelle laughed.
‘Gosh you made me jump! I'm so sorry, I never dreamed there would be another booking. I'll clear out now. Magic show is it?’
The man did not remove his mask.
‘I'm here to deal with it,’ He said. ‘You really should have kept to your booking.’
The floor rumbled. One of the cups fell off the kitchen counter. And the last party decorations no longer resembled something for a celebration, but signs to welcome a new being to the world.
