Dottie.
Dorothy was the downstairs neighbours daughter and a right nuisance for fifteen-year-old Alfie. That scrawny, dark-eyed girl was often left with them in the evenings.
Auntie Margaret raised her alone, barely scraping by, working shifts as a care assistant, rushing to give pensioners their injections, and clutching at any chance to earn a few extra quid. She even tried to sort out her love lifenever worked. There was one decent bloke, turned out he was married.
Shed always appear on their doorstep out of nowhere, avoiding eye contact, whispering urgently, «Vera, just for a couple hours, Ill owe youits late, how can she stay alone?» Dorothy stood beside her, sulking, head bowed sadly.
Mum would sigh but take her in anyway, so the girl wouldnt sit in the dark, empty flat. Dad always grumbled about it later.
Alfie bore the brunt of Mums kindness, because Dorothy was inevitably dumped on him to watch «some cartoons.» Shed huddle at the far end of the sofa, silently enduring whatever violent film was on, hands pressed to her knees, which only annoyed him more.
Once a week, Auntie Margaret shoved a crumpled tenner at him and begged him to walk the newly minted first-grader at least to the cornerthey were headed to the same school anyway.
That day, Dorothy was shining like a polished teapot, even managing a few words on the way: said they had a special assembly, and shed be reciting Snowflakes. Alfie smirkedin that ridiculous bobble hat, the silly thing looked more like a space-travelling germ.
After first lesson, kids trickled into the canteen for break. Alfie, out of habit, reached for a cheese sandwich. Then, devil take him, he glanced back.
The little ones were buzzing louder than usual in their corner. A group had gathered around Dorothy in her fancy dress. Some were laughing, pointing; others tried to pass her a napkin. Alfie edged closer. It was worse than he thoughther entire outfit was drenched in strawberry yoghurt.
She stood frozen, silent tears streaming down her face.
Out of nowhere, an excited Tommy grabbed his arm.
«Alfie, come on! Ellies sorting out the party» His voice seemed distant. «She asked for you specially! Youll miss it!»
Ellie Just chatting with her was any lads dream. And now she wanted him there? He took a step toward the door. Not his problem, was it? Let them call Auntie Margaret, clean the dress, whatever.
Deep down, Alfie knew no one would bother with Dorothy. Theyd shove her aside, and shed shrink into herself againunseen, unheard, used to it by now.
He sighed, just like Mum did, and turned back.
«Miss Thompson, whens the assembly?»
«Oh, Alfie, in an hour and a half. Look at herI gave her a solo, trusted her, and now this How can she go on like this?»
Dorothy trembled, splattered and pale as if she might be sick. Alfie pried the empty cup from her grip.
«Let me take her homemaybe she can change.»
«Alfie, Id be ever so gratefuloff you go, Ill sort it with Mrs. Harris.»
Turns out, there was no other fancy dress. Alfie muttered every curse he knew as he scrubbed the stains, blasted the damp patches with a hairdryer, and ironed the rumpled pink folds. Dorothy, in just her vest and tights, hovered anxiously. They sprinted back, her mittened hand tight in his.
He never did talk to Ellie that day. Skived off lessons, toowent to the first-years assembly instead.
Dorothy rattled off her poem like a pro. And as her class filed past, she suddenly broke ranks, flung herself at him, and blurted:
«Alfie, if it werent for you, Id have died today Proper died.»
Silly thing.
