Toasties

The shovel digs into the dirt and the knife slices through bread. Seeds are scattered politely as the butter is spread carelessly. Next, the cheese, the smelly kind, her father’s favourite. Glancing through the window into the green she watches as her father lays down the topsoil, she places the top layer onto his well-earned snack. Twisting the knob to high she places the sandwich into the oven staring at it for a moment, eager for the cheese to melt. 

Wandering off into the blissful sun to greet her father with a nice ice-cold drink, he lays down his shovel and joins her at the table. It was a rare occasion these days that she spent time with her father listening to his green-fingered ways. They reminisce as they look upon the garden at the continuous changes he makes and has made to the garden. 

“I remember when you used to tell me that the squirrels had been eating all the blueberries whilst your fingers were covered with blueberry dye.” He smirks through his big brown loving eyes. He sniffs a few times followed by a chuckle. “What are you burning this time? You’ve never learned the art of toasting up a cheese sandwich, have you.” 

“Well, I make it just as you like it.” She remarks and turns her head with displease falling into a daydream, thinking back to the more than numerous times she’s made her mum mad with burnt cheese crusted to the bottom of the oven. “I’ve never heard you complain.” She says to her father. 

There’s no response. 

“Dad!” She exclaims puzzled to his whereabouts, he was right there and now he’s not. 

“Call the fire brigade, quick, there’s smoke coming from next door.” Her dad yells as he runs into his cellar. She turns and stops abruptly at the thick smoke seeping from an upstairs window. 

“Call 999.” Her father shouts whilst running up the steps carrying his ladder. 

She pulls out her phone and dials 999 and stares back at the neighbours window. All of a sudden she bolts like an athlete in the 100m sprint remembering the cheese sandwich in the oven. Surely it’s nowhere near burnt yet! 

She’s just in time, it’s a rare occasion, the cheese is melted and the bread is toasted, just as her father likes it. Her father, the ladder, she remembers before rushing out the front to join the spectators. Looking around she begins to worry when she notices her father's ladder leaning against an open window, smoke draughting through. What has he gotten himself into this time? 

Someone finally appears at the window, it’s one of the neighbours. With the helpful coaxing from the others below they make their way down the ladder followed by another. “Don’t forget this.” Out of the window springs little Milo, the neighbours dog luckily landing in the arms of someone below. It must be her father’s turn now, she thought but no one follows. Where is he? What is he doing? Hopefully, he’s not looking for that tool he lent them a few months ago. 

Through angelic billows of smoke, he arrives at the window like a saint presenting its divine presence. He watches as the fire brigade turns onto the street and smiles brightly. People begin to applaud as he takes to the ladder. Once on solid ground, she runs to him in relief. He looks into her big brown eyes with a humble yet cheeky smile and presents a bright, white toastie maker. “Here you go love, no more making your mum mad with burnt cheese anymore and you can still make me that cheese toasty, just as I like it!”