3. The Postman

Winston Staples, a sturdily-built man in his late forties, with dark brown skin, brown eyes, and black hair, stood in the hall of his house, and looked critically at his reflection in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his tightly-cropped hair and around his newly-smooth chin. On the whole, he thought he preferred how he looked with a beard, but it had just got so itchy recently that it had to go.

He glanced at the clock in the hall, and sighed with frustration. It was nearly five past six, and he would have liked to have been out of the house before six. But he'd managed to spill some sauce on his shirt during breakfast, and had to go back upstairs and put a clean one on. Fortunately, the depot was only a few hundred metres down the road from his house. That was one of the main reasons he had decided to move his family here from the other side of Wildbridge.

His wife Rochelle had objected, of course. He knew she would. All her friends lived on that side of town, and she had wanted their children to go to the posh school over there. But this house was closer to his job, and there was a park just around the corner, which the children loved. Also, the nearby school was just as good as the posh one. After all, it was the school that he had attended.

He smiled to himself, remembering his school days. Good times. He couldn't understand why Rochelle had developed such an irrational dislike of Church Hill School. Sure, it could be a little rough at times, but that only served to toughen you up. He wanted his children to grow up to be tough, strong men, rather than a couple of pansies.

He sighed again as he retrieved his cap from the coat-hook near the door, placing it firmly on his head. Most of his colleagues at the post office, including many of those who delivered the mail, had chosen to forego the dark blue cap. He shook his head despairingly. He preferred to uphold that particular tradition. He felt that a postman without his cap didn't garner the same kind of respect and appreciation.

He checked in the mirror one more time that his cap and uniform, most particularly his tie, were straight. Confirming that all was in order, he glanced around the hall in search of his keys. Unable to locate them, he stepped back into the front room to check whether he had left them in there. Frowning, he looked around. Still no sign of them.

His two children, five-year-old Reginald and four-year-old Rudy, were still sitting at the table, finishing their breakfast. He smiled at them. He doubted they would know where his keys were. They weren't allowed to tough his things without permission.

Winston turned back towards the hallway, trying to remember where he had last seen his keys. No luck. He sighed with annoyance. He could hear his wife in the kitchen, washing up the dishes and plates from breakfast. Perhaps she knew where they were.

“Rochelle, have you seen my keys?” he bellowed.

There was the briefest of pauses before his wife replied. “Aren't they on the shelf by the door?”

He stepped back into the hall, and peered at the collection of items gathering dust on the shelf. A small pot of varnish, some stickers for some charity or other, a small notepad and a few pens, but no keys.

“No,” he shouted back in irritation.

Suddenly, Rochelle appeared beside him, a slim, demure woman in her early forties, with light brown skin, green eyes, and loosely-cut shoulder-length dark brown hair. She was still drying her hands on a towel. She looked around the hall and rolled her eyes in frustration at her husband, before retrieving his keys from the shelf on the other side of the door and handing them to him.

“Oh, that shelf!” Winston exclaimed with relief, as he snatched the keys from her hand. “Why didn't you say?” he added angrily, glaring at her.

Rochelle smiled demurely in response, before giving her husband a gentle peck on the cheek. “Goodbye, darling,” she said as she opened the door. “Have a good morning.”

Winston smiled and patted his wife on the backside. “Good girl,” he whispered as he stepped outside. Rochelle shivered. He smiled.

“Oh, and don't forget to pick the boys up from nursery after your round,” Rochelle reminded him. He stopped, turned towards his wife, and growled in irritation.

“Yes, I hadn't forgotten,” he replied exasperatedly, “the nursery closes at twelve today.” He glanced at the sky. The weather forecast had suggested that it was going to be a pleasant, sunny day, if a little cold for that time of year. He peered back into the house.

“Kids,” Winston shouted, “if you behave yourselves, I'll take you to the park in the afternoon.”

Both children cheered with joy at this possibility, and climbed down off their chairs, intent on rushing towards the front door and promising to their father that they would be good. Winston smiled and chuckled. He liked being a father to two well-behaved boys.

“Ah ah ah!” Rochelle exclaimed as the children ran towards the door, “go back and finish your breakfast, or you'll be late.”

“Aww, mum,” the children exclaimed disappointedly as they came to a stop by the hall door.

“Listen to your mother, boys,” Winston remarked gravely. “Remember, I said if you behave yourselves.”

The boys nodded in unison, and trudged back to the breakfast table.

Winston watched the children as they sat back down to finish their breakfasts, before looking back at his wife. “You better behave yourself as well,” he intoned menacingly, before turning and marching down the road.

Rochelle watched him leave, the smile frozen on her face, her hand grasping the door handle so tightly her knuckles were turning white. As he disappeared down the road, she firmly closed and locked the door, before heading back over to her children, who were still sitting excitedly at the table.

She tried to stop her hands from shaking as she cleared away the last empty plates and bowls from the table, and sent the children upstairs to finish getting ready. She slid the crockery into the soapy water in the basin, and tightly grasped the edge of the worktop, listening to the sound of the children's footsteps as they climbed the stairs.

Once she was certain they were out of earshot, she lifted her shaking hands to her face and started to sob. She grabbed the towel again, and buried her face in it, trying not to make too much noise. She didn't want the children to see her like this. It would only upset them. They were too young to understand, in any case.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of their footsteps descending the stairs. She wiped her eyes with the towel, and finished the washing up. She was emptying the basin as Reggie bounded into the kitchen. She cast a critical eye over his appearance, then reached forward to straighten his collar.

“That's better,” she smiled. “Now go and put your shoes and coat on.”

Reggie nodded, and rushed into the hallway. Rochelle stepped out of the kitchen and looked around for Rudy. He was sitting on the couch, looking out of the window.

“Come here Rudy.” she snapped, rather more sharply that she had intended.

Rudy jumped out of his seat, worried that he was in some kind of trouble, and nervously approached his mother. Rochelle smiled at him, trying to reassure him that he wasn't in any trouble, as she inspected his appearance.

“Pull your socks up, child,” she chided him, “then go and put your shoes and coat on. Reggie will help you with your laces.”

Rudy nodded dolefully, then turned and headed into the hallway. Rochelle looked around the front room with a sorrowful sigh. She reached down and picked Rudy's toy train up off the floor, placing it on the low table in front of the couch. There were a couple of magazines lying on the couch, which she retrieved and placed back in the paper rack. She glanced around once more, and nodded to herself with satisfaction.

She headed into the hallway, where the children were waiting for her, their shoes and coats having been donned. She checked their shoelaces, making sure they were tied correctly, then retrieved her own coat from its hook on the wall. She slid her arms into the sleeves, then looked around for her handbag.

“Kids, have you seen my bag anywhere?” she asked.

Immediately, Reggie and Rudy both rushed back into the front room to retrieve her bag. She smiled to herself, and slid her feet into her shoes. They were a little uncomfortable, but Winston wouldn't let her buy a new pair.

She could hear the children arguing behind her. She turned and glared at them. They had found her handbag, and were fighting over which of them would hand it to her.

“What did your father say about behaving?” she admonished them. “Now stop fighting and give me my bag.”

Immediately, the children stopped pushing each other and arguing. But each refused to let go of her handbag. Rochelle glared at them for a few seconds, until Reggie sheepishly let go and allowed Rudy to pass the handbag to his mother.

“That's better.” Rochelle told them sternly as she slung her back over her arm. “Now let's go.”

She opened the front door and stepped outside. A chill gust of wind made her shiver. The children squeezed past her and rushed excitedly down the path. They stopped by the road and waited as she checked that her keys were in her bag before closing the door.

As she waked down the path, she looked up at the sky. It looked as though the weather forecast had been correct, and it was going to be a nice sunny day. She smiled, and held out her hands for the children to hold. With Reggie to her right and Rudy to her left, both grasping her hand tightly, she led them up the road to the nursery.