Sandy’s Shift - preview

April 3rd, 2008 |

Sandy’s Shift (A Short Story) – Copyright © 2008 by Slim Palmer

Tony fell out of the pub that was opposite the Stage Door to the Theatre Royal.

The show had finished some hour and a half ago as had been evident by the ‘punters’ streaming out of the side-street fire door – children in hand – from the pantomime. Some television soap-tart, as Aladdin, and another TV actor as Abanaza. Someone from a cop show – as the posters proclaimed. The kids had been smiling and laughing and their parents had grinned at them.

‘That was good, mum!’ a tot about six years old had exclaimed. The mother had smiled and nodded, probably thinking about the forty-two quid it had cost to keep her daughter amused for ninety minutes. It had gone on the credit card the same as the rest of Christmas.

‘Food.’ thought Tony. I need food. He staggered through the busy lane to the main thoroughfare and looked left and right. ‘Kebab’ was his next thought and retraced his steps past the pub and to a take-away on the corner.

‘Ah dinnae wan’ aal th’ fuckin’ rabbit-meat!’ exclaimed a voice as he entered the open door. ‘Ah jis’ wan’ th’ meat inna… thing… nan… peterbread.’ The drunk wavered and clutched at the counter as the young girl removed the offending salad from the polystyrene tray.

‘An’ put summore chilli ohn i’.’

The drunk paid his two-pounds-fifty and went off happy.

There were three other people in the queue. A young couple, looking nervously at the departing drunk and a geeky looking guy with short hair, thick rimmed spectacles and a backpack.

Tony took a deep breath. That last pint had done for him. What was it? Twelve? Fourteen? That and a couple of Jamesons.

‘Phwaaar!’ he exhailed.

‘Next?’ said the Asian guy behind the counter.

The young couple ordered a pizza and were promptly served and left.

The geek wanted a vegi-burger with salad.

‘You will have to wait, please.’ the Asian guy, wiping his hands down his white apron, told him. ‘I am not having any ready.’ and looked at Tony for his order.

‘Pepperoni pizza. Double garlic. Double mozzarella, anna chilli.’ he ordered.

‘Fourteen, twelve or nine?’ asked the Asian.

Tony considered for a moment. ‘Twelve.’ he eventually decided.

‘Five-fifty.’ said the woman that was manning the till.

After a few moments the pizza was duly delivered and Tony left the take-away, the pizza box balanced precariously on his left hand. He transferred it to the firmer grip of his right. It was hot.

Again, passing the pub which by now was empty and had the cleaning lights blazing so that the staff could tidy and empty ash-trays, he headed towards the main thoroughfare, staggering slightly.

It may be called Grey Street, he thought, but it was anything but. Singles; couples; a group of girls on a hen-night – the bride wearing L-plates and a bunch of young guys holding each other up. No-one could have been over the age of thirty.

‘Old man.’ he thought, ‘You’re an old man. At thirty-five you no longer fit.’

The pizza was burning so he moved it to his left hand and started down the street.

The way home, on the Quayside, was down Dean Street, around the corner and then he would let himself into the secure block of apartments. He weaved slightly as he progressed.

‘TWAT! Yer a fucking twat!’ he heard as he crossed the road at the junction.

A girl and a man were stood outside a late bar having an argument. The girl was swinging her handbag in the direction of the man and missing. She staggered on her high heels as she swung.

‘TWAT!’ she screamed again, ‘Tha’s my mate an’ y’ chattin’ her up!’ She swung again and this time the bag contacted with the man’s head even though he tried to fend off the blow.

He retaliated by slapping the girl with enough force to send her sprawling into the gutter where she ended with her short skirt up around her waist, revealing a pink g-string and her left breast releasing itself from the top of her plunging-neckline T-shirt. She also lost one of her stilettos that skidded off into the middle of the road.

She screamed.

Behind Tony a deep voice shouted: ‘OY! Enough!’ As he turned he saw two police officers, one male one female in stab-vests start to move forward – one of them reaching for his handcuffs.

‘Good cabaret.’ thought Tony, ‘Newcastle, Friday night, cabaret time.’ He decided to perch against the telecoms box that took up part of the corner of the junction and watch the ensuing dramatics.

The male officer went to the girl and helped her to her feet, giving her the handbag that had tipped a mobile phone and various other contents into the gutter.

The female police-person was not as gentle. She rounded on the man and in an instant had his arm twisted up his back in a thumb-lock.

‘Don’ hurt him!’ screamed the girl. ‘Benny..!’ she held out a hand as if pleading.

The man struggled as the policewoman pushed his arm further up his back and he fought against the restraint.

The handbag came into weapon mode once again as the girl swung at the WPC in trying to release the boyfriend. ‘Gerroff ‘im y’ cow!’ shrieked the girl. ‘Leave ‘im alone.’

The policeman jumped at the girl to save his colleague and wrapped his arms around her.

‘Fuckin’ pervert. Gerroff me tits!’ she cried.

By now a crowd had assembled to watch the cabaret and the junction was half full of Friday night revellers.

‘G’wan, pet!’ shouted one of them, ‘Knee ‘im in th’ nuts.’

Tony looked down as he felt something brush against his leg. It was a lop-eared, sand coloured dog with a curl to its lip.

‘A’ right, mate?’ he asked as he reached down to stroke its head.

The dog looked up with large rheumy eyes and blinked.

‘Fine, thank you. Usual Friday night I see.’ replied the dog.

The pizza box dropped out of Tony’s hand and thudded to the pavement spilling its contents

‘Oh,’ said the dog, ‘Thanks, but I’ve eaten today.’

Tony’s mouth dropped open as he watched the canine wander off across the junction and then, a short way up Grey Street, turn into an alleyway. Tony shook his head, blinked, and then turned to go home, muttering about being too drunk and it never really happened.

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