The Opening Kickoff

139 25 8
                                    

"Oh that would be Robbie," Ulla said, glancing at her mobile to check the front door camera.

Jackie figured everything in the cottage was automated and connected, like in the Old School. She wasn't particularly fond of these recent technological advancements: she just didn't fancy her life to be managed by a HAL.

Together with an electronically signed copy of the contract, she'd received several automatic notifications of Alexander granting her access to apps and gadgets in her cottage. She was resolute to 'unplug' as many of them as possible. Among other things, she was planning to install normal buttons or switches to control her lights, as well as to add a deadbolt on the door. She was a wizard when it came to her work software, from SIS management to billing - but she liked her life analogue, provided it didn't affect her productivity. She read books made of actual paper; preferably recycled, of course, if they were new. She jotted down notes and her shopping lists with a pencil. She even owned a watch, which wound up from her walking, but still needed her to manually fix the date at the end of April, June, September, November, and February.

"Would you mind opening the door for him?" Ulla said and pressed her hand into the table. "It'll take me a minute to get up, and he might just walk away. He's neurodivergent."

"Of course."

Jackie put down her cup and quickly went to the hall. The visitor turned out to be a teen of about fourteen, tall and lanky, their dishevelled hair of the brightest orange. Jackie was a ginger from a family of gingers from the country with the highest concentration of redheads per capita in the world. And yet, even she was impressed by the carrot-headedness of Mrs. Svensson's guest.

"Hiya," the teen grumbled, their unfocused gaze wandering the doorframe and the vestibule behind Jackie.

"Hello, Robbie," Jackie said, stepping aside. "My name is Jocelyn. I'm Mrs. Svensson's friend. She asked me to open the door for you."

"I'm late for the class again," Robbie said and lifted their hand with a violin case to demonstrate. "The trainers felt wrong."

"Ah, Robbie. Hiya," Ulla greeted them from the end of the hall. "You can go to the sitting room and start on the usual exercises. I'll be right with you."

Robbie stomped inside, rummaging in their cross-body tote with their left hand. Jackie saw them disappear in the lounge, pulling out a pair of large headphones and awkwardly pushing them onto their head.

"This is Robbie Sparrow," Ulla said, approaching Jackie. "One of your pupils, actually. When they moved to the county a few years ago, there apparently were some behaviour concerns; but when I got him, he was already doing so well," she said, throwing a warm look after the boy. "His stepfather apparently has been the most beneficial influence. You might know him. Stephen Bassey? He used to be a TA in the Comprehensive, around the same time when you taught there."

Jackie whipped her head in the direction of the sitting room.

"I do. Yeah... I do know Stephen. We worked together at the time." Jackie's voice wavered. She suddenly had a paranoid thought that the lovely vicar's wife wasn't as unaware as she appeared; and that this was her way of goading Jackie. "I ran into him when I first came to Fleckney, a couple of months ago," Jackie continued, discreetly clenching her fists behind her back. "He had a smaller child with him. About seven or eight years old. I reckon, it's his younger one. Lee, I think."

"I'll have to admit an awful truth to you," Ulla said and snorted. "I have no interest in my 'parishioners.'" She gestured 'bunny ears' in the air. "I try to stay out of anyone's business, unless they specifically ask for my help or it's irresponsible to ignore a situation. It's Oliver who knows everything about everyone, even if they aren't his flock. I just teach music and train our choir." She shrugged. "I know you don't have the luxury to pick and choose, though. You're open season for anyone's problems in the community."

Her Melting PointWhere stories live. Discover now