I had hardly moved in when the doorbell rang. A small, scruffy looking girl child stood before me. “You’re the lady who bought the house!” she told me, brooking no denial. I admitted that I was. “You’ll be wanting a babysitter. I am cheap, dependable, and a strict disciplinarian. I will start today.” My reply that I did not have any children was waved aside. “You see that lot playing over there?” She pointed towards a small cluster of children who appeared to be arguing over a rusty tricycle a few yards down the street. “They are a filthy, noisy, thievish lot. Unless I keep an eye on them, you won’t have a moment’s peace around here.”
I looked the little extortionist over carefully. “Are you sure you can control so many children on your own?” A stern glance from her steely eyes convinced me immediately that she could. “50 pence an hour,” she said, “payable in advance. Double on weekends.” “That’s ridiculous, I am usually not even here during the week. 25 pence an hour, a total of ten hours a week, payable each Saturday for the previous week.” I was listening to these words as they left my mouth, incredulous and appalled. Was I really bargaining with a street urchin over the amount she planned to charge me for babysitting other people’s children? Apparently I was.
“Tell you what,” the girl was saying, “three quid a week and I guarantee absolute peace. Paid up front.” “Certainly not,” I replied indignantly. “I don’t get paid in advance, either, so why should you?” She considered this for a moment, and said, “But don’t you see, I am going to have to spend some of that money on sweets and things, to keep them quiet.” After a bit more haggling we agreed to one pound in advance, and another at the end of the week. After having informed me that her name was Frieda, and that she lived across the street at number 5, she left, clutching the first of the many one-pound coins that were to come her way. Hiding behind the curtain, I observed how she rounded up the other children and led them towards the newsagent at the corner, presumably to buy sweets. Relieved that Frieda had forgotten to mention sickness benefits, Christmas bonuses, and such like, I went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, wondering what other surprises life in The Little Street would hold for me.
