God and Chips

‘God and chips, flurry and fleas. Cuckoo.’

The chip shop girl looked blank, her expression changing to shock as the man in front of her slapped himself across the face.

‘Er pardon,’ she asked.

‘Bastard, bastard, bastard,’ said the man.

Louise Porter was seventeen and in her second week of employment at Park's chippy. She’d already had to cope with drunken men when they came from the pub at the end of the night. She hadn't done very well. Lou was cursed with being the epitome of the beautiful ideal; she blushed if a man so much as looked at her with bleary eyed, drunken lust and she cried if a customer became irate if she made mistakes with their order.

She was keen and wanted to do well in this, her first, job. Now she had another drunk to contend with. She felt her colour rising and had no idea how to deal with the situation. Luckily she didn't have to, Frank, the owner of the shop, had heard the foul language and, anticipating trouble, he came from the back room where he’d been mixing batter.

‘Now then, sir can I help you?’ he asked, wiping his hands on a white tea towel as he took command of the situation.

‘Louise love, could you bring some more haddock from the large freezer, please.’ He smiled at the blushing girl.

‘Yes,’ said the customer. ‘I'd like cod and chips with curry and peas, please’

‘Certainly sir,’ replied Frank. They rarely gave him any trouble, not many were foolish enough to try their hand with a man who's sixteen stone and often wielding a sharp knife, or at the very least, a wet fish. He made up the order and thanked the man.

‘Twat,’ the customer shouted from the safety of the door. Frank shook his head and heard him cuckooing to himself as he walked up the street unwrapping his meal.

~*~

Jimmy felt safe in the Golden Ball, it was his local and he was well known. Nicknamed The Rusty Knacker to all the regulars, it rarely entertained any passing trade and Jimmy could be himself. He even considered some of the other customers his friends.

~*~

Jess had never been on a blind date. She'd met Gary on the internet. She was shy and although pretty, intelligent and reasonably funny, she still had problems when it came to meeting people. she clammed up and could never think of a thing to say. She would colour from the base of her neck right up to her hairline and no amount of her mother telling her how attractive it was for a woman to 'bloom' made the slightest difference. She had a feeling that the evening was going to be her biggest dating disaster yet.

She walked into the Golden Ball feeling awkward as several men sanding at the bar turned to look at her. He’d tried to insist that they meet in the park across the road and walk to the pub for a drink together, but Jess was a sensible girl and she'd heard all the horror stories related to computer dating. It hadn't seemed like a difficult thing to do when she'd suggested meeting inside the pub, but this was a far cry from sitting confidently in her living room and typing the words. This was her walking into a pub, alone, to meet a stranger and feeling deathly self conscious.

Five foot eleven with brown curly hair and green eyes, he'd said. They’d been talking for months but had decided not to do any photo swapping, They agreed that too much emphasis was put on physical appearance. He said that he could talk to her about almost anything.

Most of the men who slouched against the bar were middle aged or elderly. Gary was twenty-two. Only one man matched the description that he'd given her but he made no effort to acknowledge her. He didn't give the impression that he was waiting for her. But the hair was longish, soft curls met his collar and then flipped up and although she couldn't see the colour of his eyes they looked kind. It must be him.

‘Excuse me, are you Gary?’

He turned to her and her first thought was that she wouldn't have described his eyes as green. They were more hazel. It was a full five seconds before he spoke and when he did it was slow and deliberate. His brow furrowed as he answered her.

‘No, I'm sorry, I'm not.’

‘Oh, right. Well I'm sorry to bother you. Thank you.’

She felt the blush spread from inside her collar, it rose over her cheeks, the heat coming from her face in a visible burning haze. She told herself to try and relax. She wanted to turn tail and leave but she was rooted to the spot and found herself staring at a barmaid who looked at her with an expression that intimated that she’d just spoken. Worse, she’d asked a question that required an answer and Jess had no idea what she’d said.

‘I'm sorry?’

The lady behind the bar was irritated at having to repeat herself. ‘Can I help you? Can I get you something?’ she spoke as though Jess was an idiot.
Jess had a dry throat but all of her thoughts were focussed on getting the hell out of there. It didn't matter that Gary might have been detained at work, or had suddenly taken ill, and couldn't contact her. Or even that he may have been run over by a bus. All Jess was certain of was the fact that this entire room full of people knew that she’d been stood up. And that each and every one of them was thinking what a sad cow she was.

Nobody in the bar was paying any attention to her. After the initial peering over their beer glasses to see who had caused the draft from the opening door, they’d lost interest in the newcomer. Strangers didn't come here often, but when they did, they never caused much of a sensation.

‘Orange Juice please,’ she managed, stuttering over the J. What the hell was she doing? She needed to get out, but the barmaid was glaring at her and Jess couldn't move.

Bad move, why the hell hadn't she asked for lemonade?

‘Would that be, Britvic orange, Fifty five, or pure fruit?’ Oh God, she had no idea. She really didn't want any of the drinks, but felt that she had to choose one.

‘Pure fruit, please.’

‘And would you like that as it comes, or with lemonade or soda?’

Jess wanted to scream at the woman that it really didn't matter.

‘Er as it comes, please.’

‘Ice?’

‘Um, no thank-you.’

She was crimson and paid for her drink determined to get it down as quickly as possible and flee for home. She had some chocolate chip cookies in the biscuit tin, them and an evening in front of the telly suddenly seemed very appealing.

She took a sip of her orange and, in her haste, it went down the wrong way. She coughed and choked. Groping in her handbag for a tissue she noticed heads coming up from pint glasses. People were staring at her.

‘`As it got bones in it lass?’ asked a man standing at the bar.

‘Bones. Femurs,’ said the man that she’d mistaken for Gary. She glanced at him and there seemed no malice in his remark. She felt him looking at her as she coughed into her hankie.

She had to have another drink to stop the coughing from the first one and as she sipped, her traitorous throat stilled its contractions and she managed to get herself under control.

'Gary's a twat,' said the man under his breath.

Jess wasn't sure that she'd heard him correctly. She turned to look at the man but he put his head down and went red.

He her gave a low whistle. It wasn't a wolf whistle, exactly, but she thought that it was intended to get her attention. She turned towards him and knocked her purse on to the floor by their feet. One of the compartments opened and some of the loose change fell out. Jess and the man both crouched to pick up the purse and the spilled money. He met her eyes and smiled as if to say. ‘I do daft things like that all the time. Don’t worry about it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jess as they straightened up.

‘Would you like to sit down over there?’ He spoke slowly, gesturing to a side table. ‘You'll find it more comfortable.’

Still reeling from her embarrassment with the drink and purse, she just wanted to get out. But he’d picked up both of their drinks and moved towards the table. Jess had little choice but to follow him. He was attractive, very attractive but there was something about him that made her feel that they were both like fish out of water in social situations. He looked as awkward as she felt.

‘Would you like another drink,’ he asked.

Then he did the most extraordinary thing. He raised his hand and softly stroked the right side of her cheek. His hand dropped back onto the table and he glared at it as though it had acted independently of his wishes. Jess almost laughed at his expression but he looked sad and embarrassed by what he'd done. She was searching for something to say when he did it again, and again, each time his hand dropped into exactly the same position on the table. He was blushing furiously and Jess' heart went out to him.

***

‘Damn,’ thought Jimmy as his hand raised to stroke her cheek for the third time. His thoughts were clear and lucid, always had been. He always knew exactly what he was doing and what he was saying. He knew how people were reacting. This lady didn't seem scared, bemused yes, but not scared.

Break the loop, break the loop he willed his brain to obey him. Sometimes the only way to stop it was to think about something else. To focus his thoughts in a different direction or a different time so that his brain flicked the switch on his actions and turned the trigger off. He needed to stop and re-set his brain.

‘God and Chips,’ he said. He’d meant to ask what her name was.

‘Pardon?’ she said with a small smile that said she had no idea what he was talking about, but understood that something was wrong.

‘I had Cod and Chips earlier.’ Bugger that was a stupid thing to say, but at least it was an intentionally stupid statement, the kind of stupid thing that anybody might say.

‘Oh right,’ she said, this time she did give a little laugh but he didn't feel as though she was mocking him. It was a nice laugh and it made him feel warm. Jimmy couldn't talk to people; Jimmy especially couldn't talk to women. This lady seemed to instinctively understand that.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ he said and he made a noise like an exotic bird. He picked up a beer mat from the table in front of him and threw it across the room. ‘My, name's Jimmy.’

‘Jess,’ she said smiling and holding out her hand for him to shake.

He gave his last 'cuckoo' of the night.. The more Jimmy relaxed, the less bizarre his language and actions were.

‘So?’ he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

‘Who's Gary?’

This time when Jess laughed it was warm and full of humour. ‘I don't know. Who is Gary?’ Jess grinned at him.

‘Do you like ice cream, Jimmy?’