The Door That Led to Where Read Free Page B

hopelessness. My auntie couldn’t care less about my exam results as long as I work on Uncle Jek’s stall. The old geezer’s only good for shouting out the bargains and being rude to the punters. He can’t even count how many pints he’s drunk. But wait a bit – if you have this job, don’t you need to look the business?’
    â€˜Yeah. The trouble is I haven’t any money to buy a suit. So as you say, life is shitty.’
    â€˜What about your mum?’
    â€˜Are you a comedian?’ asked AJ. ‘Roxy needs new trainers and the wheel fell off her scooter so Mum is buying her a proper one from the bike shop.’ Roxy was AJ’s half-sister, the apple of Jan’s eye. The word ‘no’ never applied to her. ‘I thought about nicking a suit from Oxfam but it wouldn’t look good at the law firm if I was done for shoplifting.’
    Slim laughed. ‘Come on, bro. I’ve got an idea.’
    Unlike AJ, Slim had a family wardrobe stuffed full of relatives, distant, near, and a lot in between. He reckoned that if they stood hand in hand they would stretch the whole distance from Stokey to Dalston, maybe even as far as Shoreditch. AJ had never worked out where Slim fitted in this jammed wardrobe of unnamed relatives. It was one of the things AJ, Slim and Leon had in common: broken families.
    They left the park and headed to Mr Toker’s laundry and dry-cleaner’s on Church Street. Inside, on the wall near the door, was a photo from the 1930s of five men playing golf outside a ramshackled laundrette. They weren’t wearing trousers, just baggy knickers, and socks held up by garters. The sign read ‘Free golf while we press your suit’.
    â€˜Yes?’ said Mr Toker, adding, ‘And no, I don’t have a penny if that’s why you’re here.’
    â€˜No, bro!’
    â€˜Don’t you
bro
me.’
    â€˜Sorry. No, Uncle Ş evket,’ said Slim. ‘AJ’s got a job.’
    Mr Toker studied AJ, not sure whether to take him seriously.
    â€˜Is this one of your high-flying, fancy stories?’
    â€˜No,’ said AJ. ‘I do have a job, but no suit, and without a suit I have no job.’
    â€˜Do I look like a gentleman’s outfitters?’ said Mr Toker. ‘Go away, the two of you, and stop wasting my time.’
    The other sign that AJ liked was smaller than the golf photo. It read ‘Anything not collected after three months will be sold’.
    AJ pointed to the sign.
    â€˜Please,’ he said. ‘I can pay for it on Friday. But if I don’t have a suit for Monday, I’m stuffed.’
    Mr Toker called to his wife. ‘Sarah. Do we have any suits that would fit this scallywag?’
    AJ and Slim could see a large lady bending over a basket in the back room.
    â€˜No,’ she said. ‘Why would we?’
    â€˜There. You heard the oracle speak. Now bugger off.’
    â€˜If you could just lend me one I will pay you back when I have my first pay cheque,’ pleaded AJ.
    Mr Toker laughed. ‘Neither am I a pawnbroker.’ He sat down at the sewing machine behind the counter. ‘Scarper.’
    â€˜He will pay you, Uncle Ş evket,’ said Slim. ‘I promise.
    â€˜How? Neither of you has a penny on you.’
    The sewing machine’s click-clack agreed with its boss.
    â€˜Not a penny, not a pound,’ it seemed to say.
    â€˜I’ll leave my skateboard here – it’s worth good money,’ said Slim.
    Mr Toker and the sewing machine stopped. Mr Toker looked up.
    â€˜You would do that for your friend? You’re sure?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Slim, handing over his skateboard. ‘It’s worth way more than a forgotten suit.’
    Mr Toker put the skateboard under the counter, went to the shop door and turned the sign to
Closed
.
    â€˜All right. A deal’s a deal.’
    Slim looked a little shaken.
    Mr Toker began to call out