Read Online Bucket Nut by Liza Cody - Free Book Online

one near the post office on Kipling Street,’ I said helpfully.
    â€˜I don’t believe this,’ she said. ‘You can’t really live by torchlight, with no hot water and no phone. No one lives like that.’
    â€˜Well, I do,’ I said. ‘You’re the one in debt. You’re the one can’t pay her bills. You figure it out.’ I was quite proud of myself really. She was so astounded.
    â€˜Why don’t you eat your soup and have a wash?’ I was feeling pretty kind by now. ‘Then we’ll work out what to do.’
    She looked almost guilty.
    â€˜What’s wrong?’
    â€˜Nothing.’
    â€˜Go on. What’s wrong?’
    â€˜I hate tomato soup,’ she muttered, looking at the floor. ‘And your soap … well, it’s the kind which irritates my skin. And the loo paper is hard.’
    â€˜Anything else?’
    â€˜I knew I’d hurt your feelings,’ she said, looking mournful.
    â€˜I don’t have feelings about “loo paper”,’ I said.
    â€˜Honestly, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just that I have this awful skin.’
    Her skin looked like cream. But I supposed that was what made it different from mine.
    â€˜Make a list,’ I said. ‘I’ll get what you need at Hanif’s. He’s open all night.’
    â€˜I’ve no money,’ she told me, as if I didn’t know. It made me feel good. She looked like a film star and talked poncy, but I had the dosh. I had the power to say yes or no.
    She made a list, and I warned her not to go out because of the dogs.
    Walking up the road though, I realised she hadn’t told me diddly-eye-die about anything I wanted to know. I thought she did because she had this soft confiding manner. But she didn’t. I would have to be a bit tough with her when I got back.
    The light at Hanif’s was dim and brown. Hanif does not like to spend money on electricity any more than I do, but he must. You never see his wife – she lurks somewhere in the storeroom – but you hear her. Their little boy follows customers round the aisles, his big eyes peeled for anyone boosting the odd packet of biscuits. He is almost as good a watchdog as Ramses.
    I was embarrassed. Soft bog rolls, clear soap and cream of asparagus soup were not what Hanif expected to see in my basket. I threw in a few batteries so he wouldn’t think I’d gone bonkers. He never says much to me anyway. The first time I went in there he called me ‘sir’, and he has never quite recovered.
    It started to rain while I was in Hanif’s and the little boy only followed me as far as the door. Sometimes he follows me fifty yards down the street before his father calls him back. I don’t know why.
    I walked quickly. After a long dry spell the rubbish on the pavement was turning mushy and the rain gave the road a ripe smell like a meat pie on the turn.
    At the corner where the yard fence began I saw a motorbike propped in the gutter. It was a Kawasaki, a big one. I went across to look. It was wet, but the saddle was nearly dry. The rider had only just dismounted, but there was no one in the street.
    I let myself into the yard. To my surprise the dogs did not come to greet me. But as I got closer to the Static I heard them – Ramses’ bass wo-wo-wo, and Lineker’s rap-rap-rap. I dropped the shopping on the Static steps, grabbed the torch and a crowbar and ran to the far side fence to join them.
    I was just in time to see a feller in motorcycle gear pull away from thewire and run down the street. The dogs hared off after him. I followed the dogs. We were all running parallel – him on his side of the fence, us on ours. I made as much noise as they did, yelling, ‘Oi, ball-bonce,’ and banging on the fence with the crowbar. Silent and deadly is not my way at all. I always make a big production, and it seems to work.
    Because of the dark and piles