clothes, and the torn and trampled bag Stevo was carrying.
‘What happened, lad?’
‘He was taking a pasting at the bus stop,’ said Stevo, butting in. ‘Some kid from his school having a go. I sorted it.’
‘I didn’t realise you two knew each other.’
‘Oh yeah, we’re old mates, ain’t we, Tom?’
Sam walked around from the back of the counter.
‘Let’s have a look.’
He took Tom’s head in his hands and tilted it back. There was a small cut across the bridge of his nose and a welt beneath his right eye. The edges of both nostrils and his top lip were caked with dried blood.
‘Don’t think that nose is broken,’ said Sam. ‘How’s it feel?’
‘It’s nothing,’ answered Tom. He suddenly thought about the delivery. ‘I’ve missed the pub. I’ll go back if—’
‘Don’t you worry,’ said Sam, taking the bags from Stevo. ‘Kev and I can sort that.’ He turned and shouted into the back room.
‘Kev, get The Feathers on the phone. Tell them we’re running late.’ Sam looked back at Tom and gave him his best smile. ‘I think you’d better take the rest of the day off.’
‘Nice one,’ said Stevo.
‘Get those things off,’ said Sam, gesturing at Tom’s stained apron and shirt, ‘and get them in the wash.’
‘Thanks.’ Tom stepped through the fly curtain into the back room.
‘So he’s got you to thank, has he?’
‘That’s right, Sam,’ beamed Stevo. ‘There would have been more than mincemeat on the pavement if I hadn’t shown up. All the training kicking in, see? Hate bastard bullies.’
‘How’s your dad? I’ve got some nice ones for him today. Keep an eye on the shop for a mo’.’ Sam stepped into the back, taking the bags with him.
Stevo stood alone in the shop, eyeing the glass display. He wondered how quickly he could get round to the till and fill his pockets. Before he had time to finish his calculations, Sam was back.
‘Here you go,’ he said, holding up two large white plastic bags in front of him. ‘That should keep them going for a while.’
Stevo took the bags and looked inside one. It was full of the bones Tom had packed.
‘Thanks. He’ll be happy with these.’
Tom came back into the shop dressed in his usual clothes, the green sweatshirt that hung off him a tad cleaner than his jeans. A pair of old trainers added to his untidy look, but his face was washed and the tangle of his hair slicked back.
‘The only way to beat a bully,’ advised Sam, ‘is to kick the shit out of him.’ He chuckled to himself, then looked at Stevo. ‘Take care of him. Make sure he gets home safe. And say hello to the old man.’
‘So where you going, then?’ asked Stevo as they stepped outside into the sunshine.
‘Dunno. Home, I suppose.’
‘You can come back to mine if you want. Mum’ll be in. She’ll get us some food on.’ Stevo looked Tom up and down. ‘Fatten you up a bit.’ He held up the bags. ‘I’ve got to get these back for the dogs and clean them out. You can give us a hand if you like.’
Tom’s ears pricked up. ‘You’ve got dogs?’
‘Yeah. My mum’s bloke breeds them. They’re all over the estates. Come on,’ he said, taking charge. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where’d you learn to fight like that?’ asked Tom as they bowled down the high street.
‘I go to a gym. They do all sorts: judo, boxing, grappling. You name it. I do a bit of everything. You should come along. Toughen you up.’
They turned off onto a side road, Stevo stopping halfway to sit down on the edge of a low garden wall, shielded from the view of any passing motorists by an unbroken row of parked cars. He put down the bags and rifled around in his trouser pockets, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches.
‘I’ve been waiting for this all morning.’
Looking left and right to make sure no-one else was around, he lit up, taking a couple of long pulls before offering the smoke to Tom.
‘It’s alright. I’ll have one
‘What happened, lad?’
‘He was taking a pasting at the bus stop,’ said Stevo, butting in. ‘Some kid from his school having a go. I sorted it.’
‘I didn’t realise you two knew each other.’
‘Oh yeah, we’re old mates, ain’t we, Tom?’
Sam walked around from the back of the counter.
‘Let’s have a look.’
He took Tom’s head in his hands and tilted it back. There was a small cut across the bridge of his nose and a welt beneath his right eye. The edges of both nostrils and his top lip were caked with dried blood.
‘Don’t think that nose is broken,’ said Sam. ‘How’s it feel?’
‘It’s nothing,’ answered Tom. He suddenly thought about the delivery. ‘I’ve missed the pub. I’ll go back if—’
‘Don’t you worry,’ said Sam, taking the bags from Stevo. ‘Kev and I can sort that.’ He turned and shouted into the back room.
‘Kev, get The Feathers on the phone. Tell them we’re running late.’ Sam looked back at Tom and gave him his best smile. ‘I think you’d better take the rest of the day off.’
‘Nice one,’ said Stevo.
‘Get those things off,’ said Sam, gesturing at Tom’s stained apron and shirt, ‘and get them in the wash.’
‘Thanks.’ Tom stepped through the fly curtain into the back room.
‘So he’s got you to thank, has he?’
‘That’s right, Sam,’ beamed Stevo. ‘There would have been more than mincemeat on the pavement if I hadn’t shown up. All the training kicking in, see? Hate bastard bullies.’
‘How’s your dad? I’ve got some nice ones for him today. Keep an eye on the shop for a mo’.’ Sam stepped into the back, taking the bags with him.
Stevo stood alone in the shop, eyeing the glass display. He wondered how quickly he could get round to the till and fill his pockets. Before he had time to finish his calculations, Sam was back.
‘Here you go,’ he said, holding up two large white plastic bags in front of him. ‘That should keep them going for a while.’
Stevo took the bags and looked inside one. It was full of the bones Tom had packed.
‘Thanks. He’ll be happy with these.’
Tom came back into the shop dressed in his usual clothes, the green sweatshirt that hung off him a tad cleaner than his jeans. A pair of old trainers added to his untidy look, but his face was washed and the tangle of his hair slicked back.
‘The only way to beat a bully,’ advised Sam, ‘is to kick the shit out of him.’ He chuckled to himself, then looked at Stevo. ‘Take care of him. Make sure he gets home safe. And say hello to the old man.’
‘So where you going, then?’ asked Stevo as they stepped outside into the sunshine.
‘Dunno. Home, I suppose.’
‘You can come back to mine if you want. Mum’ll be in. She’ll get us some food on.’ Stevo looked Tom up and down. ‘Fatten you up a bit.’ He held up the bags. ‘I’ve got to get these back for the dogs and clean them out. You can give us a hand if you like.’
Tom’s ears pricked up. ‘You’ve got dogs?’
‘Yeah. My mum’s bloke breeds them. They’re all over the estates. Come on,’ he said, taking charge. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where’d you learn to fight like that?’ asked Tom as they bowled down the high street.
‘I go to a gym. They do all sorts: judo, boxing, grappling. You name it. I do a bit of everything. You should come along. Toughen you up.’
They turned off onto a side road, Stevo stopping halfway to sit down on the edge of a low garden wall, shielded from the view of any passing motorists by an unbroken row of parked cars. He put down the bags and rifled around in his trouser pockets, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches.
‘I’ve been waiting for this all morning.’
Looking left and right to make sure no-one else was around, he lit up, taking a couple of long pulls before offering the smoke to Tom.
‘It’s alright. I’ll have one
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