The Sundae Shop

                                    The Sundae Shop
         
        A young girl, perhaps twelve or so, gazed intently through the glass windows of ‘The Sundae Shop’. She was tall for her age and owned large expressive eyes. Her fingers fumbled in her pockets. Empty. Brr…. she decided to get inside anywhere. A few more minutes in the biting cold and she would freeze to death.
        The ice-cream parlour wore a bright, festive look. The walls were painted a cheery lime green. Round pinewood tables were set over the floor. The burly red-faced man behind the counter cocked his cap in greeting.  She returned the greeting uncertainly, before settling at the table nearest to the hearth.
         “What will you have, Ma’am?”, a waiter asked courteously. Ma’am! He would probably kick her out in a moment!
    “Umm… nothing.”
      He looked her over queerly.
    “Pardon me?”
          “I… umm… I’m waiting for someone.”
         The waiter moved to the next table. Phew! She pulled her chair closer to the fire-place and rubbed her palms. A child her age was tucking into a rainbow coloured ice-cream soda at the adjacent table. Inspite of the cold, it looked mouth-watering…
    “Good day, ma’ lady! Would you care for a sundae?”
         She looked up in surprise. It was the red-faced man who had stood at the counter. He wore a shabby coat over a pair of pantaloons, and a Victorian hat that hardly complemented his attire.
         “Huh? I have… I am waiting for someone.”
      “Never mind, it’s on the house. Maybe, you’d like something warmer?”
         She stared at him, uncomprehending.
  “Ho, Ho! Don’t look so astonished, girl! What’s yer name?”
                  A slow smile spread over her face. “Dina.”
         “Well Dina, I’m ‘Sundae’ Sorrens, and I’m happy to have you here! Mike, send a steaming cuppa hot chocolate, will ya’?”
  The cocoa arrived before she could refuse.
           “No… no thank you.”
      “Go on, you needn’t pay.”                    
         "I couldn't..."
        "Go on, drink it!"
    The aroma wafting into her nostrils proved too tempting. In a trice she gulped it down.
      Mr. Sorrens moved an inch closer. “Haven’t you any money at all?”
         “No.” Shamefaced, she got up to leave.
      “Wait a minute, ma’ lady. Would you be interested in a day’s job?”
          Her eyes lit up.
    “Yes, I would!”, then more cautiously, “what job?”
      “The delivery boy is on leave. If you could do a few orders…”
         “I’ll take it”, she said quickly.
  “Good! Mike, take this girl with you. She’ll be doing the deliveries today.”
         Mike, the waiter who had called her Ma’am and stood at her table, took her to the pantry. Before they disappeared Mr. Sorrens hollered, “An’ give her my jacket! It’s on the rack!”          
      “You know the roads, don’t ya?”. The polish had gone from his voice.
         “Yes… fairly well.”
    “Uh-huh. There’s a bicycle outside. You put this in the freeze box”, here, he handed her a parcel, “and deliver it to the given address. Here’s the bill.”
         She nodded frantically.
         “And remember: DON’T CHEAT!”
                   Dina pedalled off at her quickest. A short while ago she had been penniless in the cold. Now she was on a job, with a warm (if oversized) jacket draped over her shoulders. The parcel was addressed to: ‘Mrs. Nora Fribees, 46/10, Avery Lane’. What luck! She knew a shortcut to Avery Lane…  When she returned they were more parcels waiting. She cycled through the streets for the greater part of the day.
         When Dina came back after the last order, the parlour was empty. The lights were switched off. Quiet, but for Mr. Sorren’s off-key humming.
    “You’re back? Fine work, ma’ lass! Now what can I get you? Something special?”
        “I thought you would…”
         “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you!”
  He pulled out a few notes from the drawer.          
         “Here. Today’s salary. Now you wait here.”
    She waited. Mr. Sorrens brought two ice-cream sodas.
      “La Mendez Royale. My special recipe.”
    “Thank you”, the girl murmured.
         She tucked into her ice-cream ravenously. Mr. Sorrens kept humming an old love song.
      “Mmm...that was delicious.”
         “I knew you would like it.”
    “Where is everybody else?”
             “I’ve given them the day off. I thought I’d close early today.”
      Dina shifted uneasily in her seat. After a long pause, she spoke.
         “Sir, why are you being so kind to me?”
         Mr. Sorrens leaned back and smiled wistfully.
         “Well, ma’ lass, it’s my missus’ birthday today. I promised to do a good deed on this day every year. An’ here I stand, wondering what I can do, and you come strolling in. Why, you made my day!”
    “Give her my wishes.”
         “Sorry. Can’t.”
        “Huh?”
         “’Coz she’s gone. Died four years ago…”, his voice quivered, “on this very day.”
        “I’m… I’m sorry.”
    “It’s funny, you know. Sometimes I don’t know if I should mourn or celebrate.”
         He stood up and walked to the jukebox. A slow, lilting melody filled the air. “My Rose of Nantucket. Her favourite.”
  Then; “May I have this dance?”
         He took her feeble fingers in his and led her to the floor.
         “My Rose of Nantucket, My love who hath stole…”
        “Do you know”, he murmured in a dream like voice, waltzing her gently, “every year on her birthday we would dine in this parlour, when the boys had left and the lights were dimmed. And we would dance and dance and…”
    “Sir!” she exclaimed, pulling herself away, “it’s getting late. Thank you for everything.”
         “Oh, but ma’ lady…”
But Dina had already slipped out. She turned behind once, and then walked rapidly across the street. Twilight had set. The yellow light from the streetlamp lit the sundae shop in an eerie glow.
My Rose of Nantucket,
         My love who hath stole
Lift ye’ my lips,
         To the touch of your soul…
Sigh!
In his sorrow-filled heart, he saw her glide towards him. The light of his life. His missus. He held her hand in his, put an arm around her waist, and waltzed around the floor.




For readers: Can you please tell me if this story is long enough to qualify as a 'short story'?