Helping the Polonskys. Khaleel Muhammad

Only responsible, tidy children with permission from parents need apply. Report at 261 North Row at 10 a.m. on Saturday, May 3rd for immediate start.

      Mr Polonsky leaned back in his chair and rubbed his bald head in his hands. A smug grin lined his face. Surely this was the answer. If he placed an ad in Violet’s corner shop right outside the local secondary school that evening, some ‘goody goodies’ would turn up the following day and all his problems would be over. And if the brats make a mess of the job? Mr Polonsky thought, well, I’ll just blame the whole thing on them! Perfect! His grin turned into a chuckle as he went back to bed. For the first time in two weeks Mr Polonsky slept soundly until morning.

       Answering the call

      A tall teenage girl with a pretty purple and blue hijab peered at the typewritten advert in the window the following morning.

       URGENT!

       Cleaners wanted! Great opportunity for extra pocket money.

       Only responsible, tidy children with permission from parents need apply. Report at 261 North Row at 10 a.m. on Saturday, May 3rd for immediate start.

      She re-read it aloud, ‘261 North Row. 261 North Row? ‘Hmmm …’ The address sounded familiar but she couldn’t quite place it. ‘Where have I heard that before?’ she wondered aloud.

      Out of the blue, a small Pakistani boy of about 13 ran right into her from behind, almost knocking her off her feet.

      ‘Hey!’ she said, turning around. The boy had had the worst of the impact and was lying in a heap on the pavement. He wore a white shirt and jeans, and had long hair. His baseball cap was lying on the floor.

      ‘Hey!’ said the girl again. ‘Why don’t you watch where you’re going?’

      The boy rubbed his knees and began struggling to his feet.

      ‘Oh, so sorry! I keep falling over my own feet these days,’ he said in a high squeaky voice. ‘My name’s Imran. I’m really sorry if I hurt you at all. I’m late for an appointment!’

      The girl rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘No, I’m okay, I didn’t feel anything actually. And my jalabiya, I mean my clothes, are fine. Just … just be careful, OK?’ she picked up his baseball cap and plonked it back on to his head, lopsided.

      ‘My name’s Leila. As-salamu ‘alaykum, nice to meet you, Imran.’ she added brushing down her dark purple jalabiya.

      Before Imran could reply a boy and a girl on bikes came whizzing towards them at breakneck speed. They were having a race.

      ‘Get back here, snail-girl!’ laughed the boy, who was in pursuit of the girl. He wore a pink t-shirt and white trousers.

      ‘Eat my dust!’ the girl shouted back, the loose ends of her stylish hijab trailing behind her like a bright green and white flag.

      ‘Hey, you guys watch where you’re going!’ gasped Leila as they sped dangerously close by. The handlebar of the boy’s bike caught on the strap of Leila’s backpack. It was whisked from her grip, but she lunged after it and was pulled along. Instinctively, she gripped Imran’s t-shirt and pulled him along too. The extra weight on the boy’s bike made him veer right and plough his front wheel into the girl’s back wheel just ahead of him. Out of control, the odd-looking group of kids skidded and dived, all together, into a huge hole that had been dug the day before by a nearby roadwork crew and that was now full of muddy water.

      Ka-splosh!

      A workman standing nearby stared at the wet and sloppy bunch and burst out laughing.

      ‘Bwa-haha … John, me ole mucker!’ he said nudging his friend, ‘look at this dozy lot taking a mud bath, ha ha ha!’ Both men held their sides, they were laughing so much.

      The kids sat in a heap in the shallow muddy water.

      Leila turned to the others and huffed, ‘And to think I was going for a cleaning job!’

      The tall boy, Adam, who was racing the girl in the green hijab shook his head.

      ‘You’re kidding right? That’s where me and ...’ he gestured to the green hijab girl.

      ‘Sumaya, I’m called Sumaya!’ she said seething with frustration and wringing water from her clothes.

      ‘Gulp … yeah we’re going to 261 North Row.’

      ‘Wow,’ shouted Imran, ‘talk about your cosmic coincidences … we’re all going for the same job!’

      ***

      Later that morning, at 10am on the dot, Mr Polonsky heard the dull thud of an iron doorknocker drumming in his good left ear. The ad! Someone has turned up! the old man thought. He jumped out of bed and made his way to the front door, undid the lock, and opened it.

      There on his doorstep, completely covered in dripping mud, was a group of four kids staring back at him. Each had a mudstained sheet of paper in his or her outstretched hand. Leila spoke first with a bright and cheerful voice, ‘Morning, sir! We’re here for the cleaning job! Here are our letters of permission from our parents. Where do we start?’