The Sweeper

John pushed the broom along the kerb. The girl was watching him.

—What’s your name? she said.

He kept sweeping. Don’t talk to her.

—I’m Sally, I’m ten.

—You shouldn’t talk to strangers, love.

—I’m not. You’re the street sweeper.

He stopped.

—Where’s your mum?

—Home.

—Why are you on your own?

—I came out with our Terri. She went off.

—That’s not nice.

—She’s meeting Ryan. I know she is; I’m not thick.

John leaned on his broom.

—What are you gonna do?

—Dunno.

—Go home, love.

—Will you be here tomorrow?

He shouldn’t have smiled. But he did.