Not My Street

"Gordie Pask, round four, the backs, love. Two units fitted, third in hand, docket line to follow."

He had the docket flat on the glass and two of the shelf coins gone already. Over the shelf a stuck-on notice said all lines were logged by time, and under it someone had written a number in biro that someone else had tried to thumb out.

"On the survey, three's mine to answer and I'll answer it myself: it's not my street, but I fitted what I was sent to fit."

A knuckle rapped the pane. Martha held the board up outside, third line blank, as if he might've forgotten where it was.

"I'll take it as your answer to three: not your street. When you're done, I'm ringing mine."

Perry was on the kerb with his tin shut in his fist. He hadn't come any nearer. "Said down a line is said, Miss, I'll grant you that. But he told you it's not his street, and that's not the same as nobody standing there."

Gordie hung up and shouldered out into the drizzle. All morning he'd watched the row read a quarter of Maries carried past their doors, a quarter exactly, and he wasn't handing anybody anything else to weigh.

"I said what I said, love, and it's logged."

"Then I'll put it down as you said it, Mr Pask: not your street, and no name given for whose. That's a refusal, and I'll ring it in as one with the time on it."

Gordie rubbed his thumb along the docket's crease. The box next door was lit a few steps off the kerb, and he kept the ladder between it and himself.

"Put down what I said, love, the words I said, not a word more. I fitted the bolt and the unit, that's what I know, and the rest isn't mine to give you."

She wrote it on the blank line, reading it out, and stepped into the kiosk.

Martha fed a coin in and propped the board against the glass so the pencilled line faced Perry.

"Martha Hale, survey round four, Farrow Row, ringing from the bend kiosk, time logged. Question three stands as the installer's words, 'not my street, rest isn't mine to give,' and no street is named, which I am recording as refused."

The tin rapped the pane. "Miss, I'll not have 'refused' go down for a man who answered."

Then the docket tapped on the glass. "Love, I said not my street and I'll stand by that. I never said refused, and I'd not want it going down that way on my name."

She pencilled both in the margin and turned so they could watch her mouth. "Question three goes in as his words, Mr Perry's words beside them, and the word refused is mine, not theirs."

"He's said his piece and I've said mine," Perry said, "and the office can read two men without making one of them."

Her last coin dropped with a clunk and the line died. The bell rang back at once, loud through the wet glass, and a flat voice asked for the installer on round four, by name. She held the receiver out. Gordie took it and shut the door on her.

Up the row, Dasu had come out to the end of the backs.

The box next door took its half second, in his voice.

*I keep saying not my street because if it's nobody's, I never have to look at Dasu stood up the row there. Fitting bolts is easier than saying whose name goes on that line.*

He came out wiping the docket with his thumb. "That's said, love, and it's yours to write. I'll take the ladder up to the backs now, boss is stood there waiting on me."

Perry read his own line on the board, nodded, and went off toward his gate past Dasu without stopping. "I'll be at my gate if anyone wants it."

Martha watched Gordie reach Dasu, lean the ladder on a yard wall, and come back down alone without looking at her. He shut himself in the kiosk, fed it coins out of his own pocket, and his mouth moved once, briefly. Then he went back up the row.

The bell rang. She lifted it, and the flat voice read her the round four log for close: installer, in his own voice, question three answered, and the name he'd given was Dasu's. Dasu's hand had once put the widow at number nine on a sheet like this.

The board was still against the glass with refused pencilled on it in her own hand. The voice waited for the reporter. Martha held the pencil over the word.