‘I’ll give you three hundred,’ he said, salivating at the prospect of getting his hands on the gold watch now placed on his desk. Pawn had always been good to him but of late it had been bloody fantastic. The delights of robbing Peter (those in desperate straights) to pay Paul (that was his name) was his direct funding line to his property empire and cache of ostentatious cars and his outrageous supercilious wife. Life was good.
The lady’s eyes twitched at the offer. She had clearly been hoping for more. He’d seen that look a zillion times before, of the hope of this being their day just vanishing right out of the now pained iris. Did he ever care, this effect of strangling out of his customers their very life? No. No he had not. To Paul it was kill or be killed and he had no intention of being the vanquished.
She thought to argue. The watch was her mothers, now long since gone, and she had kept this one thing away from this shop but now, no food left for her bairns, what choice did she have?
She looked up to ask for more but just the look of utter distaste this man had for her and defeat arrived more quickly than third to fourth.
Paul, dismissive and haughty reached into his till and counted out the three hundred pounds in tens. He did it slowly assuming the lady in front of him was drunk or drugged or stupid or all three. He doesn’t care. Then as his left hand passed over the notes, his right went to grasp the watch and here his luck deserted him. A firm hand now arrived and rested on top of his own which, in turn, was over the lady’s cold hand that now gripped the memory of her Mother so very tightly.
‘You’re going to give the lady two thousand pounds!’ declared a level voice from a teenage girl who has appeared from behind her Mother.
Paul went to pull out his hand but somehow it would not move. Bewitchment and merry hell has entered his shop.
Paul looked up pleadingly at the girl but her eyes were not to be reached, not this day anyway and certainly not to him.
‘You will hand over the money and my Mum will keep her Mothers watch.’ It was an order, not a question.
Paul laughed, a now very nervous cackle in the face of the alchemy holding his hand tight in place.
‘Get out!’ he managed, his usual authority gone, his words void of their ill disguised hate.
‘Two thousand,’ the girl said calmly, her Mother now cradled in her daughters free arm, her cares now in the hands of her eldest.
Paul, his mind now entering a dream like state, an injection of ease suddenly released into his bloodstream, began to feel as though he was floating away from his hold on life. Was he frightened? Something was nagging at him, a dog like nip to his heel, but he found his hand being released and soon enough he was handing over not two thousand pounds, but five grand.
‘Feels kinda good don’t it mister!’ says the girl, hair slicked tight back, eyes of steel, thin as a rake.
Paul found himself nodding. He’d not given anything away in his whole godless life.
‘Yea, it does, it does…’
With this the two women exited the shop and Paul just sat down. He has no understanding of what just happened, just that it did really happen and it feels good. There’s a glow there, right deep down, and he likes it.
Mother Nature has planted a deep light of goodness in our world. We just gotta plug in. All that evil crap – leave it. Dive in to goodness. Do it.
Spread the love,
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The Birthday Gift
The Birthday Gift is a novel that sweeps through issues of love, of hope, of sorrow and of destiny. It spans across Europe, from Cornwall to London to France to Germany and then to Poland.
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On Ashover Hill
On Ashover Hill travels across Europe, spanning generations of the McTeer family and the love, hurt, pain and redemption that follows.
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