Shame the Devil Chapter Two - Part Two

Russell had turned into the parking area behind his shop letting out an expletive as he broke sharply, the corner of his front bumper missing the rear bumper of the badly parked delivery van by millimetres.

Having manoeuvred into the remaining available space, Russell had to squeeze himself out of the half-open driver’s door.

Muttering to himself, he marched towards the shop’s back entrance ready to explain parking etiquette to the driver of the van who clearly hadn’t grasped the purpose of the white-lined delineations.

His progress was halted as an empty trolley burst from the back door pushed by the twenty-something delivery man whose rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed muscular, tattooed arms. Thinking better of his planned remonstrations, Russell smiled weakly as he pressed himself against the wall to allow the man safe passage.

Russell’s entrance was further impeded as he was confronted by the sight of Simon’s polyester clad backside as he bent down to pick up one of the many cases of wine the delivery man had left, stacking them tidily in the small area between the retail space, Russell’s office and tiny kitchen.

Wine merchant was his most recent incarnation. Russell was no oenologist, but he did recognise a good business opportunity when it presented itself. So, when Arthur Roddenbury had had to take early retirement due to ill health (rumour had it the ‘ill’ part of him being his liver – his ruddy cheeks and ruby-blotched nose a tell-tale sign that Arthur had indulged rather too freely of the merchandise), Russell had snapped up the chance of taking over the lucrative business. Five years of sycophantic service (to the more discerning customers) and Russell’s subsequent move into The Close had cemented his standing in the local community.

Along with the stock and valuable customer goodwill, Russell had also inherited, Simon. With his unstylish black-rimmed spectacles, short-sleeve shirts & ties in summer and winter cardigans (over long-sleeved shirt & tie) Simon embodied the characteristics of Nerd. Russell had had his reservations about keeping on this unassuming, hesitant employee until he discovered, Simon was the business’s greatest asset. What he didn’t know about wine wasn’t worth knowing.

‘What’s all this Simon? I didn’t know we were expecting a delivery today. I nearly pranged the Jag.’

‘It’s the Cuvée Leon Parcé 2001. An excellent year. Vibrant nose, a rich and sweet palate and some beautifully well-coated tannins. It was a very good deal. I did tell you.’

Russell vaguely remembered Simon wittering on one afternoon the previous week. He’d been on the phone for ages, monopolising Russell’s office, leaving him, Russell, the boss mind you, to cope in the shop on his own, dealing with every Tom, Dick and Harry who came in for a cheap bottle of plonk to guzzle over a dinner they probably had on a tray on the sofa watching the latest reality rubbish on ITV. (Actually there had only been one customer and of course Russell had no way of knowing how he ate his dinner or what he watched and at £8 it hardly fell into the category of ‘plonk’, but that wasn’t the point.)

‘Oh yes. Fine. And I know just the customers who’ll buy it. Tidy those boxes up Simon and keep an ear out for the shop bell. I’ve got some calls to make.’

*

When they go clothes shopping most women wear something comfortable, something they can change in and out of with ease, but for, Janet the choice wasn’t one of ease or comfort, as evidenced by the rejected options scattered on the bed.

When she did buy anything new, Janet preferred the anonymity of catalogues, at least that way she could avoid the disapproving glances of shop assistants. She always felt they were laughing at her behind her back, making snide comments.

Shirley would have said she was imagining it and, even if they were, who cares what they think anyway? But then Shirley never cares what anyone thinks about her. She always does her own thing. What must it be like to be so self assured, so unfazed by the opinions of others?

*

The salesman who had tried to tempt Russell into purchasing a chime-box that would automatically activate when a customer stepped onto a pressure pad beneath the doormat had got nowhere. The gentle tinkle of the old-fashioned bell whenever the door was opened or closed was far more pleasing and gentle on the ear than the chime’s annoying, mechanical ‘bing-bong’.

Simon looked up at the sound of the bell ready to greet another customer and was surprised to see his wife, Jenny; one hand supporting her fecund bump, the other clutching a Tupperware container.

‘Hello love. What are you doing here?’

‘You forgot your lunch.’ Jenny sighed placing the container on the shop counter.

‘I could have bought a sandwich. You should be taking it easy.’

It was true; the shadows under her eyes were evidence of his wife’s fatigue not made easier by the arrival of their unborn child being overdue.

‘The doctor did say exercise was a good idea so I was hoping a walk might hurry things along a bit.’

‘Well I don’t want you walking all the way home as well. I’ll pop you back in the car. I’ll just go and let Russell know.’

Simon’s mimed actions of Jenny being overdue, her having walked over to the shop and his intentions to drive her home merely confused Russell, distracting him from the telephone call to one of his most valued customers.

‘I’m so sorry, but could you hold on for a moment?’ Covering the handset Russell hissed at Simon. ‘What?’

‘Jenny’s doctor told her exercise was a good idea as it might help bring on labour – she’s overdue and getting so fed up poor thing, so she walked over here.’

‘Simon I have Sir Merryweather hanging on. Is there a point to this story anywhere on the horizon?’

‘Oh right. Sorry. I don’t want her overdoing it so I’m popping her home in the car.
’
‘Fine. But be quick. I’ve got to leave soon.’
Russell uncovered the handset, dismissing Simon with a wave of his hand.

‘I do apologise Sir John. Now where were we? Oh yes. The Cuvée Leon Parcé 2001. An excellent year.’