Underdog by Euan Leckie Read Free Book Online

about an apprenticeship when you leave school. If it’s what you want.’ He took his hand away. ‘Now, let’s get cracking, I’ve got some orders need filling for this afternoon and there’s a delivery for you to make. You can give the blocks a go when you’ve finished the floor.’
    Tom glanced over at the two solid cutting blocks that stood side by side against the white-tiled wall. The nine-inch-thick slabs of kiln-dried maple were coated in a reddish film, the edges dotted with dried blood and specks of fat, knife scores and marks etched into the oil-finished surface. The blood and scratches reminded Tom of his arms.
    Sam headed through the red and white fly curtains back into the shop. There was a loud zap as another fly crackled on the luminous blue rings of the UV attractor.
    Tom stopped brushing the floor and wiped his bloodied hands on his apron. He looked as though he had been in a battle; fresh red splashes and dried smudges streaked the white of the material. Gathering up the thick sludge of shavings with his dustpan and brush, he took them outside.
    The sun had already warmed the mess inside the waste bins, cooking up a stench so noxious it made Tom retch when he neared them. He forced himself forward, holding the bin lid open as he tapped the dustpan empty, holding his breath against the acrid, choking air. Blowflies buzzed in and out of the bin, their humming exaggerated by the depth of the metal drum. Tom waved the dustpan at a fly zinging around his head and let the lid fall shut with a clang.
    Stepping back inside the back room, he patted his trouser pocket through his apron, making sure his packet of cigarettes was there. He was looking forward to his break.
    ‘Tom … Tom!’ called Sam from the shop. ‘Get yourself out here, will you? There’s customers.’
    ‘Just be a minute. Need to wash my hands.’
    Tom scrubbed up and made his way into the shop, tightening the strings of his apron as he joined the others behind the counter. Customers stood chatting in front of the glass display; the queue stretched out of the open shop door and onto the high street.
    ‘Mrs. Jarvis needs a round of the apple and pork, and two sirloins.’
    Tom picked out the items, wrapping them in the greaseproof paper he stripped from the roll by the till.
    ‘Will that be all, Mrs. Jarvis?’ asked Sam. ‘Can’t tempt you with some chops? Beautiful quality; best lamb I’ve had in ages.’ If only she knew.
    Mrs. Jarvis waved an arthritic finger in front of the glass as though getting a feel for the freshness of the overly ripe, marbled meat.
    ‘Oh, go on, then, Sam,’ she said, her face wrinkling up into a smile. ‘You know I can never say no to you.’
    Tom half expected her to wink at his boss. He wasn’t sure what made him feel worse: the smell of the stinking bins still lingering in his nostrils, or the sight of Mrs. Jarvis’ spider-leg moustache. He looked down at the chops on the platter, wondering how many bites it would take before her oversized false teeth got stuck in the meat and were sucked away from her gums. The thought made him grin as he looked up at her.
    ‘How many, then, missus?’
    ‘I’ll take two, young man,’ she replied, casting an eye over Tom as he collected the final items of her order. ‘You’re new, aren’t you? I’m sure I’d remember someone so handsome.’
    ‘He is indeed. New, that is.’ Sam finished serving the customer beside her.
    ‘You’ve landed on your feet working here with Sam. He’ll look after you.’
    Tom handed over the packages of meat and waited while Mrs. Jarvis rooted around in her purse.
    ‘Charming, Sam,’ she said, counting out the money. ‘Such lovely eyes.’ She leant across the counter. ‘I can’t take him with me as well, can I?’
    Tom could feel his cheeks burn as Mrs. Jarvis cackled and Sam began to laugh. He suddenly felt self-conscious: everyone in the queue looking at him. It was a relief when the old lady finally took her change