The man peered into the bag and frowned like he didn’t believe him and then stepped back.
“What’s that dog doing in there?”
“Restin’,” he said, and because Jack was being quiet and good he fed her one of the little pasties as a reward, even though chocolate was bad for dogs.
Bully took the drink, sipped it, poked his tongue out. Coffee.
“You want sugar?” Bully nodded. “What do you think this is, a café?” The man laughed and gave him three packets out of his apron and Bully emptied them into his cup and threw them away.
“Heh, mind my pavement!”
“What?”
The man pointed to one of the empty sugar packets floating about. Bully put his foot on it.
“You going to pick it up?”
They looked at each other for a few seconds and then the man looked at the bag.
“You want tea instead?”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Bully.
“OK… You pick up the paper and I make you tea. Deal?”
Bully nodded but when the man went back inside, he took his foot off the packet and kicked it with his toe into the gutter.
Swish, swish, swish
… He heard Jack’s Monkey Dog tail wagging inside the bag. She was smelling something … someone. All human beings smelled different to dogs. It was like a fingerprint – no two were the same – and Jack knew everyone Bully knew but by their smell more than anything, more than what they looked like. If the wind was in the right direction, Jack even knew who was coming before they showed up. And sometimes Bully could even tell
who
it was from just how many of those fangy little teeth were showing, because just like any human being, Jack liked some people more than others. A few moments later he saw Stan, wearing a big white shirt and work black trousers, crossing the road, coming to see
him
, chancing it between two cars.
“This … is good…” Stan was standing by the kerb drinking Bully’s coffee quickly like it was water. Bully gave Stan the last chocolate pasty. The man from the eating place was standing just inside his shop with the tea in his hand, watching them.
“Nice. Perfect after crash,” Stan said. He’d spent the night in a hostel. “Don’t like it, you know – all the questions, you know? You got this? You got that? Where you sleep every day – I just say: this is sleeping place? I want to
sleep
, OK. You know?”
“Yeah … yeah. Mick’s not around, is he?”
Bully wanted to make sure of this because he wanted to ask Stan for the favour on his own.
“No … still kipping… Bin kipping. You know Mick. No drinking in hostel. So he loves bin. I’m going to bin now and getting him up. You coming?”
“Stan… I won it.” He blurted it out, couldn’t help it. But Stan was all right. He was on his list.
“What?”
“I got the numbers. I got all of them. I won it!”
“Won what? What you win?”
“The lottery.”
“What numbers? What?”
“Camelot… You know.” Bully saw the knights in his head, charging around the castle on their dirt bikes, revving up, annoying the neighbours, making bets as to what day in the next five days he was going to turn up.
“What,
this
week? No. I not see you on TV.”
“No, it was in February. But, look, there’s only five days left on it and you gotta be sixteen before they give it to you, to get the money. So can you do me a favour, yeah? I’ll split it with you,” he said, without thinking exactly what splitting meant.
Stan rubbed his face and head thoroughly like he was washing it.
“How much? How much you winning?”
“A lot … the lot, you know?
All
of it. But you’ve got to have something to show them who you are, to prove it, yeah? You got that?”
It didn’t say this on the back of the ticket but Bully was now sure of it. Of course they would if it was millions they were handing over. You wouldn’t just give millions away without proof, would you? You’d keep it. He didn’t believe any of it would be going to charity if he didn’t get his claim in. That was just a story.
“What’s that dog doing in there?”
“Restin’,” he said, and because Jack was being quiet and good he fed her one of the little pasties as a reward, even though chocolate was bad for dogs.
Bully took the drink, sipped it, poked his tongue out. Coffee.
“You want sugar?” Bully nodded. “What do you think this is, a café?” The man laughed and gave him three packets out of his apron and Bully emptied them into his cup and threw them away.
“Heh, mind my pavement!”
“What?”
The man pointed to one of the empty sugar packets floating about. Bully put his foot on it.
“You going to pick it up?”
They looked at each other for a few seconds and then the man looked at the bag.
“You want tea instead?”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Bully.
“OK… You pick up the paper and I make you tea. Deal?”
Bully nodded but when the man went back inside, he took his foot off the packet and kicked it with his toe into the gutter.
Swish, swish, swish
… He heard Jack’s Monkey Dog tail wagging inside the bag. She was smelling something … someone. All human beings smelled different to dogs. It was like a fingerprint – no two were the same – and Jack knew everyone Bully knew but by their smell more than anything, more than what they looked like. If the wind was in the right direction, Jack even knew who was coming before they showed up. And sometimes Bully could even tell
who
it was from just how many of those fangy little teeth were showing, because just like any human being, Jack liked some people more than others. A few moments later he saw Stan, wearing a big white shirt and work black trousers, crossing the road, coming to see
him
, chancing it between two cars.
“This … is good…” Stan was standing by the kerb drinking Bully’s coffee quickly like it was water. Bully gave Stan the last chocolate pasty. The man from the eating place was standing just inside his shop with the tea in his hand, watching them.
“Nice. Perfect after crash,” Stan said. He’d spent the night in a hostel. “Don’t like it, you know – all the questions, you know? You got this? You got that? Where you sleep every day – I just say: this is sleeping place? I want to
sleep
, OK. You know?”
“Yeah … yeah. Mick’s not around, is he?”
Bully wanted to make sure of this because he wanted to ask Stan for the favour on his own.
“No … still kipping… Bin kipping. You know Mick. No drinking in hostel. So he loves bin. I’m going to bin now and getting him up. You coming?”
“Stan… I won it.” He blurted it out, couldn’t help it. But Stan was all right. He was on his list.
“What?”
“I got the numbers. I got all of them. I won it!”
“Won what? What you win?”
“The lottery.”
“What numbers? What?”
“Camelot… You know.” Bully saw the knights in his head, charging around the castle on their dirt bikes, revving up, annoying the neighbours, making bets as to what day in the next five days he was going to turn up.
“What,
this
week? No. I not see you on TV.”
“No, it was in February. But, look, there’s only five days left on it and you gotta be sixteen before they give it to you, to get the money. So can you do me a favour, yeah? I’ll split it with you,” he said, without thinking exactly what splitting meant.
Stan rubbed his face and head thoroughly like he was washing it.
“How much? How much you winning?”
“A lot … the lot, you know?
All
of it. But you’ve got to have something to show them who you are, to prove it, yeah? You got that?”
It didn’t say this on the back of the ticket but Bully was now sure of it. Of course they would if it was millions they were handing over. You wouldn’t just give millions away without proof, would you? You’d keep it. He didn’t believe any of it would be going to charity if he didn’t get his claim in. That was just a story.
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