Kester James turns the corner into the High Street and comes face to face with Helen Marchant. Their eyes meet. He nods a curt acknowledgement and walks past.
‘Mister James?’
He turns. ‘Hmm?’
Helen takes a hesitant step towards him, clearly not relishing what she has to do. ‘I think I may owe you an apology’ she admits, looking down at the pavement.
‘Several ’ Kester continues on his way to the newsagents ‘but don’t let it worry you’ he mutters.
‘Mister James…Kester…please. This is…very difficult for me.’
‘What do you want me to say, Ms Marchant?’ He pauses, half turning to look at her.
‘That you will accept my apology?’
‘Fine, accepted.’
‘And for me to ask…’
Noticing her trembling, he turns fully. ‘Are you ok?’
‘Yes!’ she says sharply.
Kester sighs and briefly closes his eyes. Lifting his hand in a gesture of disinterest, he starts to turn away again.
‘Sorry…please….I didn’t mean that…I’d got this all worked out but it’s so much harder than I ever thought it would be.’
‘To apologise?’
‘To you, yes.’
‘Then don’t bother. I’m sure we can both live with the status quo.’
The High Street, Milliwick
Chapter Three
4 Pike Lane
‘P’raps you ought to’ve give her chance to said ‘er piece.’ George Harris fidgets in his chair, wincing while he finds a new, more comfortable way to sit.
‘Why should I, George?’ Kester James sits in the armchair on the other side of the hearth, leaning forwards and enjoying the warmth from the fire on his face.
‘Cos it pays to get em on side. Iffin you get me drift.’ George tips his head in a wink.
‘Thanks but no thanks’
‘Methinks thou doth protesteth too much, young man!’
Kester grins at George’s attempt at an upper class accent.’
‘Ain’t that right though. Eh? You’s done nothing but talk about that gal ever since we’s been out t’gether.’
‘Only because I was infuriated by her attitude.’
‘Infuriamated, eh? Well, there’s a thing. So you being all worried ‘bout er bawling were because you was infuriamated. Well, dang my boots!’ George exclaims, slapping the arm of his chair. ‘Who’d a thought it?’
‘Do I detect a hint of sarcasm there, George?’ Kester arches one eyebrow.
‘You do, boy. Nobody what don’t fancy nobody gives a bugger whether they’s bawling or not.’
‘I do not fancy her. I was concerned, that’s all….but she was so bloody rude….’
‘Ah! There you go then.’ George decides ‘She fancies you an’ all!’
Kester chuckles and shakes his head. ‘Sometimes your logic astounds me.’ He stands up. ‘Thanks for the tea, George. I’ll pick you up tomorrow then. She’s very good. Have you sorted out in no time.’
‘SHE?’ I ain’t seein no woman fizzydoodah.’ George puffs his cheeks with determined resolution.
‘She’s a first class sports injury specialist. I’ve seen her a couple of times.’
‘But I ain’t got no sports injury, I reckon I done it up the allotment.’
‘Makes no odds, I’ve booked it, I’m paying and you’re going’ Kester takes their tea mugs into the small kitchen and spends a few seconds rinsing them under the tap.
‘Will I ‘ave t’strip off?’ George calls.
‘She won’t want to work on you with your overcoat on, that’s for sure.’
‘I di’nt mean that…I meant….all off!’
Kester smirks to himself and returns to the cluttered living room. ‘She may just give you some exercises to do, strengthen the back muscles that support the nerve. She will examine you but if she does any massage at all, she’ll make certain your dignity is well covered.’
George wheezes a laugh ‘Cor, I ain’t never ‘eard it called that afore! Righto. Ten o’clock it is then. I’ll sees you in the mornin.’
‘Anything to get back in Jessie’s good books, she really tore me off a strip, you know. Said it was all my fault you were hobbling about like an old man.’
‘I am an old man. Silly mare.’ He gazes into the fire with a soft smile on his face. ‘She were concerned ‘bout me?’
‘Yes, George, she was.’ Kester follows his line of thought and smiles.
‘I tell you; she was all but in tears. Stood out there on that pavement like he’d slapped ‘er!’ Liz Applewhite, with her arms folded on the counter, nods sideways to the street through the plate glass window at the front of the shop
‘He hadn’t though?’ Edna Smith sounds unsure.
‘Course he ain’t.’ Liz clicks her tongue. ‘When you ever knowed the boy t’be like that? He’s a lovely chap, he is. Brought up proper.’ She sighs. ‘I loves the way he talks. All posh int it?’ She stands up and with a thumb inside the neck of her blouse repositions a slipped bra strap onto her shoulder as she turns to unscrew the top of a sweet jar on the shelf behind her. She hands Edna a foil wrapped toffee.
‘So what happened then?’
‘Nothing. He comes in here, wi’ a face like thunder, picks up a couple of packets of mints, collects his magazine and off he trots.’ She pops the toffee into her mouth and chews. ‘Not before he give me a quick wink though’ she mumbles then pushes the sweet into her cheek to speak more clearly. ‘He always does that’ she slurps another sigh.
‘And her from the library?’ Edna tucks her toffee into her coat pocket.
‘She’d gone be then. He went t’other way.’ Liz swings a string bound pile of newspapers onto the counter from the floor and deftly cuts them free with the hooked blade of a lethal looking knife.
Edna takes a prudent step backwards. ‘Wonder what went on?’
‘Haven’t got the foggiest, I’m just telling you what I saw.’
Milliwick Newsagents
