Ross Raisin - Gods Own Country

It was fettled tidier than any shop I’d ever stepped in, you’d think we were the first customers had ever come in the place. Down one side was all stacks of newspapers bound with string, and down the other was drink — a wall of green bottles most the length the shop, that turned white near the counter end where the drink ended at boxes of pills and medicines. They had that thought out right, I’d likely drink myself ill and all, if I lived here. I don’t think it’s a good idea, Sam, she said quiet. I told her it’d be fine and sent her walking down the drink aisle while I tantled near the entrance, examining letter pads and packs of envelopes. I didn’t look up, but I’d glegged the shopkeeper as we’d come in, a bald sod with a band-end wisp of moustache. I could feel his eyes on me. He was thinking — what’s he looking at them pads for? Who’s Lankenstein going to write a letter to? His mother and father? Katie Carmichael? Dear Katie, remember them times sneaking out behind the school, kissing and giggling? Them were good times, weren’t they? But I’ve got a new girl now, so you don’t need to worry about me. All the best, Lankenstein.

I moved down the aisle, among the biscuits. She was far side the shop still, I could see the top her head, shining under the strip light, never mind she hadn’t washed her hair and there were umpteen grimings of muck coated on her. She was stock-still. I couldn’t tell what she was doing. The bald sod wasn’t fussed about her, though, he had his glare my way. I could sneak a watch of him between packets of custard creams, and I saw that, next the counter where he was stood, there was a cold chest stocked with sarnies and scotch eggs. It’d been a calf-headed idea, I thought then, telling her to distract him. We’d got it arse-uppards. It should’ve been me doing the distracting, for who’s more suspicious-seeming — A bonny-faced young lass, or a brazzent-looking farmer in a raggedy jacket, studying letter pads? Arse-uppards or not, though, he was sudden moving off toward her, she must’ve called him over, codding him she needed help finding a medicine for some ailment. He gave a quick glower my direction as he left his spot behind the counter, I’ve my eye on you still, he meant, but I didn’t give a stuff where he had his eye, he wasn’t going to stop me smuggling sarnies now he was other side the shop. I’d bray him if he tried.

I sauntered down the aisle toward the cold chest, scanning the items along the shelves as I passed as if I was thinking what to buy — pasta, rice, gravy granules, no, I’m good for all of that already, I think it’ll just be the free sarnies today, that’ll be all. When I got to the chest, I gave a check behind, but I couldn’t see either of them, he was busy playing the quack, telling her which pills she needed to mend her ailments. I cast a look over the sarnie shelf. All lined up in plastic triangle cases, it started my juices running just seeing them. I was about to take one, but then I thought, it was something queer that I couldn’t hear them. If he was informing her on the medicines then certain I’d hear him chuntering, and then it flashed sudden in my head, what if she’d took off? The thought of it took me hold an instant, I hunched for a sight through the lower shelf cracks, and I saw I was being daft, I could see the both of them, they were close by each other and she was saying something to him, too quiet for me to hear. I hurried back to taking the sarnies. It was her fault, all these questions about Katie Carmichael, making me think like that.

I started stuffing them in my pockets — prawn mayonnaise, cheese and pickle, they were the only two labels I saw. I filled two into each the outside pockets, then I crammed the insides as well, my jacket was so swollen around my nethers it looked I had it mighty bad with the haemorrhoids. You have anything for that, do you? Hmm, well, let me see, I might have just the thing.

I tucked a bottle of water in the band of my kecks, and I was about done, ready to make off out the shop, when another thought stole into my brain — most the sarnies I’d took were prawn mayonnaise, but what if she wasn’t partial? There wasn’t sense in it, course, if I’d used a bit of gumption I’d have said to myself, how do you know she likes cheese and pickle, how do you know what sarnies she likes, except for pork and apple? But my gumption wasn’t strong enough to wrestle the thought out, and I started searching for anything different. Behind the counter was empty, they were still other side the shop, so I started fingering through the ones at the back. There were a couple of ham, and I pulled them from the shelf, but as I did it I knocked another packet off and it broke open on the floor, spilling shreds of lettuce on to the spanking clean tiles. Poor bald sod, he kept the place so tidy normaltimes, and I’d gone and made a muck-hole of it, but no matter — here he was coming round the aisle corner, ready to clean it up. He marked the sarnies sticking out my pockets and he clocked right away what was going on, shouting, oi, you thievin’ tyke! but he wasn’t so sure of himself to do anything on me, he just stood dithering, his bald slap gleaming beneath the light. I kicked the fallen sarnie at him and scarpered.

She was stood outdoors. Her eyes were hid from me by the lettering on the window but her mouth was open in a small circle, saying something, I couldn’t hear what. She looked like she was blowing out a candle. All I could hear was the bald sod behind going, oi, you, oi! I didn’t know what he thought he’d do if he caught me. I darted out the shop, snatching a tin of beans off a shelf as I ran out the door.

She was stood on the pavement still. Come on, quick, I told her, and I took hold her hand. Come on! I shouted, pulling her along with me — not that there was chance he’d catch us up, but I wanted to run away like we had the day before, laughing like half-brains. Greengrass! I shouted, get back here, you old devil, then I turned round and smashed the tin of beans through the shop window. We slowed a moment and watched as the window caved in like it was being sucked by a whirlpool, and shards of glass shattered on to the floor and into the boxes of onions and potatoes. Poor bald sod, he was holding his hands on his head, he thought he’d get scratches all over it.

We had to make a sprint for it then, folk would be popping their heads out of windows any moment — what’s all this racket? I’m drinking myself ill in here, you know, I can’t be doing with all this kerfuffle.

Come on! We ran down the street back the way we’d come. We kept on at a fair crack and I had to ease off time to time when I realised she couldn’t keep up so well and I was tugging at her arm. Greengrass! I shouted once, but when I looked across at her she wasn’t laughing, her face was fixed straight ahead. She needn’t have worried, no one was going to catch us now, we’d reached the oilseed fields, and when I glegged behind there wasn’t anybody in sight.

The path through the fields was too narrow for us to go side by side, so I had to let go her hand. We slowed to a walk, and I marked that my blood was pounding and my head spun a little when I looked about at the sea of yellow quivering all round. Then I noticed she’d stopped. She was twenty yards back, she must’ve flagged out after the running. I walked back toward her, tickling my palms along the tops of the oilseed, and I thought, maybe I’ll show her now what happens when you split the flowers open and the seeds spill out, but when I got closer I saw it wasn’t the time for that. She was bluthering.

You hurt me, she said, her cheeks slippery with tears. You broke my bracelet.

We returned to the wood, and rested out the afternoon, owing to it started raining. She hadn’t been too keen to stay there, but I told her it was sense to wait while the rain stopped, eat us sarnies, before we moved on. She must’ve understood finally that was the best way for it, because she didn’t fratchen with me, she followed as I led her into the more sheltered part the wood, where we seated up in a thicket of ash trees, using our bags as buffits. She was tetchy, though, I could tell. One point, she said we should go back, and I had to tell her she wasn’t being sensible. She kept herself lipped up then and whenever I spoke something to her, like — are you dry enough? Or, did you see him with his hands on his head? — she’d say, I’m fine, or else she wouldn’t say anything at all, just look in front at the soggy ground with a yonderly face on her.