CONFECTIONERY AISLE
The confectionery aisle of the new supermarket that'd been built beside the runway to replace Lipton's had been deserted, so I'd managed to get on with the job in hand, my mission as it were. As I was re-adjusting myself, Richard came round the corner and spotted me. He smiled a smile of amused recognition and padded down the aisle towards me.
'Hiya!' he said, 'Back again! Thought you'd gone back to the UK.'
Him with his smart casual clothes, daily shaves and side parting; me in my salt-stained, cut-off jean shorts, sun bleached T-shirt, teenage stubble and unwashed hair.
'I did. I had, I mean. But I missed the old place. The boats, the sun….' (The dope, the craïc….)
I felt shifty and hoped beyond hope that he couldn't see the unnatural bulge between the waistband of my shorts and the lower reaches of my T-shirt. I turned to face my former colleague front on, crossing my hands over my crotch, as if I was addressing him with respect.
'Nice big new store,' I said, looking around. (Follow my eyes, Richard, look around me, not at me….)
'Yes. We're very pleased with it.'
'More responsibilities…. A lot more staff, I see…. A lot more money…?' I raised a wheedling eyebrow.
'I've been able to buy a new car for once,' Richard said. 'And I've moved into an apartment with my girlfriend out in San Roque now.'
I'd always liked Richard. He was about my age. Straight as a die. A good person who'd be a good provider for his kids when they came along; who wouldn't dream of cheating on his wife as they got older and less interested in spending intimate time together. He'd stay with the firm and be given promotion on his merits. His wouldn't be a hard climb up the ladder; he'd glide effortlessly to the top, supported all the way by his peers. His salaried happiness, his cosy future with a loving family was guaranteed by his outlook on life. Struggle, questioning, drifting about in a drug-induced haze wasn't in his make up. He was as clean as I was dirty; as hardworking as I was lazy. He was a good man. And though he glanced at the bulge I tried to hide behind my hands he didn't refer to it, just wished me well and gave me an indulgent smile and said: 'Well, I must get on,' and wandered slowly back down the aisle and out of sight.
After I'd paid for my ten pence bag of sweets at the checkout and headed for the glass sliding door to make my escape into the sun, I glanced back into the store and saw Richard standing by the tills next to the short, moustachioed man in a grey suit who managed the supermarket and who had once, too, been my boss. They were both watching me with a steady gaze. I raised an arm in farewell and started walking back over the runway towards the boat, praying that the bar of chocolate, block of cheese and bag of bread rolls wouldn't fall down through the legs of my shorts, or at least not until I was out of sight. I put a hand to my booty and started to carefully jog.
'Hiya!' he said, 'Back again! Thought you'd gone back to the UK.'
Him with his smart casual clothes, daily shaves and side parting; me in my salt-stained, cut-off jean shorts, sun bleached T-shirt, teenage stubble and unwashed hair.
'I did. I had, I mean. But I missed the old place. The boats, the sun….' (The dope, the craïc….)
I felt shifty and hoped beyond hope that he couldn't see the unnatural bulge between the waistband of my shorts and the lower reaches of my T-shirt. I turned to face my former colleague front on, crossing my hands over my crotch, as if I was addressing him with respect.
'Nice big new store,' I said, looking around. (Follow my eyes, Richard, look around me, not at me….)
'Yes. We're very pleased with it.'
'More responsibilities…. A lot more staff, I see…. A lot more money…?' I raised a wheedling eyebrow.
'I've been able to buy a new car for once,' Richard said. 'And I've moved into an apartment with my girlfriend out in San Roque now.'
I'd always liked Richard. He was about my age. Straight as a die. A good person who'd be a good provider for his kids when they came along; who wouldn't dream of cheating on his wife as they got older and less interested in spending intimate time together. He'd stay with the firm and be given promotion on his merits. His wouldn't be a hard climb up the ladder; he'd glide effortlessly to the top, supported all the way by his peers. His salaried happiness, his cosy future with a loving family was guaranteed by his outlook on life. Struggle, questioning, drifting about in a drug-induced haze wasn't in his make up. He was as clean as I was dirty; as hardworking as I was lazy. He was a good man. And though he glanced at the bulge I tried to hide behind my hands he didn't refer to it, just wished me well and gave me an indulgent smile and said: 'Well, I must get on,' and wandered slowly back down the aisle and out of sight.
After I'd paid for my ten pence bag of sweets at the checkout and headed for the glass sliding door to make my escape into the sun, I glanced back into the store and saw Richard standing by the tills next to the short, moustachioed man in a grey suit who managed the supermarket and who had once, too, been my boss. They were both watching me with a steady gaze. I raised an arm in farewell and started walking back over the runway towards the boat, praying that the bar of chocolate, block of cheese and bag of bread rolls wouldn't fall down through the legs of my shorts, or at least not until I was out of sight. I put a hand to my booty and started to carefully jog.