New And Collected Stories (2016) - Plot & Excerpts
‘Belt-up, you rag-bags,’ he shouted, to his two brothers beckoning from their government surplus lorry. He ploughed into waterpuddles, socks and flesh soaked. ‘Can’t you see I’m coming? Now look at what they’ve made me do!’ Curses ate into him like a corkscrew – ‘I’m wet through now. I’ll catch me death o’ cold. You poxed-up bastards,’ he raved, a fist pushed further into his groin pocket when he’d like it to be out and slamming them. He broke his tirade to grin at a couple of wide-eyed shopping women who thought he might have less dirty talk. ‘Can’t you wait a bit? You must have drainpipes, not guts, swallowing scorched tea like that.’ Tall Dave leaned out of the cab. His rawboned face, and grizzled-grey hair topped by a faded cap, jutted over a little boy pushing a tricycle. ‘There ain’t all day. We want to get cracking to Eastwood, see what we can get’ – his voice raised but reasonable. Back inside he lit a cigarette, shifted to the middle: ‘Hudge up, Flaptabs wants to park hissen.’ Bert, foot on the clutch and revving up loud, pressed himself against the door.
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