There’s a right clattering in the yard. Hold my breath and stand stock still. Then I turn round, put my eye to a crack in the door and I see a black van. One of them with sliding doors. And there’s that gold lettering. Swinford’s Tea and Coffee: Pure and Robust. My mouth’s sticky with thirst. Haven’t even thought of a drink of water, let alone tea. And there’s some bloke in a grey coat clambering out of it. Same colour as them clouds. Could be camouflage on a day like this. He’s a a tall bloke. One of them that stoops his neck when he walks. Takes his cap off. Looks like he’s lost. He has shiny, rusty coloured hair. Brylcreemed. Wipes his nose with back of his hand. I step out the door.
Continue reading “Spade by Andy Larter”
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