Square and I noticed a group of men fitting thick, black canvas
sheets to the scaffolding of a stage. A theatre troupe were hanging around idly
to one side, dressed in black and wearing strange masks with greatly exaggerated
features. Most of the actors were horsing around and laughing, but there was
one member of the troupe who was standing perfectly still, a little way from the
others. He peered over the top of his mask and surveyed the Square intently. It
was if looking for something, or someone, in particular. I figured he was
probably the director.
I watched the actors for
a bit longer before glancing around at the other things that were happening in
the Square. There were kids playing a game of chase, as someone shouted at
them, and groups of men were stringing brightly coloured lanterns and streamers
between the lampposts, just as they always did at this time of year to celebrate
the start of winter.
“That’s right, me love,
ten pastries a fiver!” a voice suddenly barged into my thoughts. I turned to
see a large woman with red cheeks standing behind me. She was wearing a crisp
white apron and had a blue-check scarf tied ambitiously around a huge mop of hair.
The trestle table in front of her was packed with fresh, crusty bread; pies
that were so densely filled there were no gaps left for daylight to squeeze in;
cakes slathered in either raspberry, chocolate or thick cream-cheese icing; and
lattice-top tarts that had dark purple jam oozing out of them. I almost had to
stop myself swooning with hunger, as the woman cheerfully parcelled up the food
and swapped jokes with her customers.
“I could murder a pastry,”
said Bede.
I was already fishing around
in my pockets for the money.
“Two of those please,” I
said, pointing to the pastries with gooey, dark blackcurrant centres.
“There you go, me lovely,”
said the woman as I handed her the coins. “Have a good day, won’t you.”
I smiled, trying to remember
the last time I’d been so excited about food, and moved away from the table. I
began eating so quickly I was almost inhaling the food. Bede sidled up to me
with a suspiciously sly grin. Warily, I met his gaze, before my eyes travelled
slowly, reluctantly, to the loaf of bread that was now bulging from the inside of
his coat. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself. Unfortunately, I wasn’t
the only person who’d noticed his fancy finger work.
“Hey kid, I didn’t see
you pay for that!” someone shouted. The woman in the apron was still within
earshot and suddenly realised what had happened.
“Why, that thieving
little…” She turned to the man standing behind her. “Mick, get after him would
you. We can’t have people thinking it’s okay to nick our stuff.”
Mick was a lean, hungry
looking man with gaunt cheeks, a heavy set brow and large hands.
“Yeah, onto it Martha,”
he said, glaring at Bede.
“Run!” Bede shouted,
clutching the loaf to his chest and breaking into a sprint.
I was so shocked that it
took a couple of seconds for the word to actually register in my brain, let
alone find its way down to my legs. I glanced behind me to see that Mick was
now only a short distance behind us and closing the gap frighteningly quickly. I
didn’t need to think at that point – the animal instinct to run for my life had
well and truly kicked in.
“Bede!” I shouted, but he
was already ten metres ahead of me and disappearing fast. My shock was morphing
into anger amazingly quickly. I just couldn’t believe what a complete arse he’d
been, nicking the load after we’d expressly agreed that my ankle wasn’t
up to it. Right then I could have easily traded my brother for the loaf.
But there was no time to negotiate
a deal with Mick. He was rapidly gaining ground on us and shouting “stop thief!”
to anyone who would listen. I tried to block it out and pretend that he was
talking about someone else, just like I did at school when I was being called a
‘ging-er’. It
sheets to the scaffolding of a stage. A theatre troupe were hanging around idly
to one side, dressed in black and wearing strange masks with greatly exaggerated
features. Most of the actors were horsing around and laughing, but there was
one member of the troupe who was standing perfectly still, a little way from the
others. He peered over the top of his mask and surveyed the Square intently. It
was if looking for something, or someone, in particular. I figured he was
probably the director.
I watched the actors for
a bit longer before glancing around at the other things that were happening in
the Square. There were kids playing a game of chase, as someone shouted at
them, and groups of men were stringing brightly coloured lanterns and streamers
between the lampposts, just as they always did at this time of year to celebrate
the start of winter.
“That’s right, me love,
ten pastries a fiver!” a voice suddenly barged into my thoughts. I turned to
see a large woman with red cheeks standing behind me. She was wearing a crisp
white apron and had a blue-check scarf tied ambitiously around a huge mop of hair.
The trestle table in front of her was packed with fresh, crusty bread; pies
that were so densely filled there were no gaps left for daylight to squeeze in;
cakes slathered in either raspberry, chocolate or thick cream-cheese icing; and
lattice-top tarts that had dark purple jam oozing out of them. I almost had to
stop myself swooning with hunger, as the woman cheerfully parcelled up the food
and swapped jokes with her customers.
“I could murder a pastry,”
said Bede.
I was already fishing around
in my pockets for the money.
“Two of those please,” I
said, pointing to the pastries with gooey, dark blackcurrant centres.
“There you go, me lovely,”
said the woman as I handed her the coins. “Have a good day, won’t you.”
I smiled, trying to remember
the last time I’d been so excited about food, and moved away from the table. I
began eating so quickly I was almost inhaling the food. Bede sidled up to me
with a suspiciously sly grin. Warily, I met his gaze, before my eyes travelled
slowly, reluctantly, to the loaf of bread that was now bulging from the inside of
his coat. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself. Unfortunately, I wasn’t
the only person who’d noticed his fancy finger work.
“Hey kid, I didn’t see
you pay for that!” someone shouted. The woman in the apron was still within
earshot and suddenly realised what had happened.
“Why, that thieving
little…” She turned to the man standing behind her. “Mick, get after him would
you. We can’t have people thinking it’s okay to nick our stuff.”
Mick was a lean, hungry
looking man with gaunt cheeks, a heavy set brow and large hands.
“Yeah, onto it Martha,”
he said, glaring at Bede.
“Run!” Bede shouted,
clutching the loaf to his chest and breaking into a sprint.
I was so shocked that it
took a couple of seconds for the word to actually register in my brain, let
alone find its way down to my legs. I glanced behind me to see that Mick was
now only a short distance behind us and closing the gap frighteningly quickly. I
didn’t need to think at that point – the animal instinct to run for my life had
well and truly kicked in.
“Bede!” I shouted, but he
was already ten metres ahead of me and disappearing fast. My shock was morphing
into anger amazingly quickly. I just couldn’t believe what a complete arse he’d
been, nicking the load after we’d expressly agreed that my ankle wasn’t
up to it. Right then I could have easily traded my brother for the loaf.
But there was no time to negotiate
a deal with Mick. He was rapidly gaining ground on us and shouting “stop thief!”
to anyone who would listen. I tried to block it out and pretend that he was
talking about someone else, just like I did at school when I was being called a
‘ging-er’. It
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