by Vicky Jones
It had been a long time since Shona had had a restful night.
Chapter 2
Squinting into the bright Thursday morning sunshine, Shona groaned, feeling her gritty eyes sting as she forced them open. With her backside completely numb from sitting on the cold, hard ground all night, she shuffled her legs to get the blood flowing properly again. Her thin cardboard mattress had provided little comfort to her during her almost sleepless night.
As she coughed and rubbed her face, the events of last night came flooding back to her. Finding the last of her foraged bread in her jacket pocket, she took a hungry bite, wiping crumbs off her grubby chin. Leaning back against the bricks, she heard a purring sound and looked down to see a pair of green eyes fixed on her every chew. After being kept awake for most of the night with the unnerving feeling of being watched, Shona was relieved to see only a mangy old cat there with her in the alleyway. Suppressing a smile, she swallowed down her mouthful, her expression hardening as it edged closer.
“Don’t eyeball me like that,” she scolded, flicking her hand at the stray, but it crept closer and then nuzzled her. She stroked the cat for a moment and fed it her last few crumbs. Standing upright, she stretched out her aching back and felt for the rounded edges of the half dollar coin against the fabric of her overshirt, praying it hadn’t fallen out.
“Well, it’s been nice knowing you, kitty, but I got a hankering for some proper food,” she said, tipping her cap and slinging her satchel over her shoulder.
Walking to the end of the alleyway, Shona, to her relief, saw the grocery store was now open. Hoping her dirty, disheveled appearance wouldn’t attract too much attention, she took a quick look through the window to see how many people were in there. The inside of the grocery store was separated by two main aisles, with a bakery counter situated at the far end. To the left of the entrance was the cash register and to the right, by the soap powder stand, three women wearing gingham check print house dresses, white gloves and cardigan sweaters were standing chatting with each other, holding boxes of Omo. A businessman in a gray sack suit and fedora was reading the headlines of the newspaper he’d picked up off the rack by the door. Talking to the owner behind the cash register was an old lady wearing a green full skirt, white blouse and pale green cardigan sweater. After heaving in a large breath to steady her nerves, Shona pushed open the door.
The little bell above tinkled as Shona entered, causing the housewives to look over at her. They wrinkled their noses, sniffing as the scent of body odor and unwashed skin wafted over on the breeze. Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, Shona took off her cap, ruffled the back of her short, matted blonde hair and swept her hand through her long, greasy bangs. Replacing her cap, she wandered over to the far end of the store and began browsing the cakes that were sitting proudly behind the glass partition. The women tutted to each other, then carried on with their conversation. The owner kept one eye on Shona and the other on the old lady standing at his register. Half-listening to her story about the bits of gutter on her house that were falling down, he finished bagging up her items and totaled up her bill.
Shona licked her lips as she stared at the delicious-looking mud pie behind the glass, adding up in her head what the half dollar could buy her. With her common sense overriding her desire for the pie, she headed over to the bread section and, feeling many sets of eyes on her, began to pick up a few of the cheaper items she saw, including a loaf of Wonder Bread, a lump of cheddar, a couple of green apples and a Holloway’s Hi-Noon bar. As she walked over to the counter, she overheard the old lady still in full flow of her story and, after lowering her eyes, stood in line behind her.
The old lady finished her conversation and pushed her bags to the end of the counter while she put her wallet back in her purse. Shona approached and laid her goods down, sending an apple rolling across the counter until she shot out her arm to catch it. The owner stared for a moment as Shona flashed him an embarrassed smile, then he pulled out a brown paper bag from under the counter to start bagging up her items.
“Right, that’ll be forty-eight cents then,” the owner announced.
From her top pocket, Shona pulled out the coin she’d been treasuring all night and handed it over. Nodding her thanks, she picked up her bag and turned to leave, unnerved by the stares that were fixed on her every move. Reaching for the handle of the door, her attention was caught by a Highway Patrol car cruising past the store. Feeling an innate surge of panic grip her, Shona twisted her body, her back now flat against the wall next to the door, her bag hugged closely into her chest.
“Hey,” the shop owner called out. Shona looked over, terror etched on her face. Her eyes flicked a second time to the black and white Dodge Coronet outside that had now rolled to a halt. “You forgot your change,” he continued. He held out two copper coins as Shona looked back at him.
“Keep it,” she replied.
As her fingers reached down for the cold steel of the handle, another customer came through the door quickly, knocking Shona’s grocery bag flying out of her arms and scattering her items on the stone floor, the paper bag shredding in her shaking hands. Shona sank to her knees to retrieve her precious food. As she did so, her cap fell off. Bending down next to her, the man who’d caused the melee reached to grab what he could to help.
“Hey, man, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you there.” The young man stopped mid-sentence and stared at Shona’s messy blonde hair, her high cheekbones and ocean blue eyes. “Oh, my… I’m so sorry, ma’am. But your clothes… I thought you were a guy.” He laughed nervously as Shona pocketed an apple and the candy bar, and, in her haste, left the other, bulkier items on the floor.
“Don’t sweat it,” Shona replied, replacing her cap and tucking her hair underneath the peak. Jumping to her feet, she slipped out of the grocery store and back down the alleyway. Hearing the roar of the Dodge’s engine, she ducked down behind the dumpster and peeked around, watching as the Coronet drove straight past.
“Relax. They won’t find you,” she whispered to herself over and over again until her raging heartbeat finally calmed down.
Dorothy leaned on the counter, looking at the young man who’d caused Shona’s swift exit. His keen green eyes were staring through the glass door as he ran a hand through his light brown hair.
“You see where she went, Jonny?”
Jonny turned around, a downcast look on his boyishly handsome face. He sank his hands into the pockets of his dark blue mechanic’s overalls and sauntered over to her. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Clark. No, she disappeared.” He placed on the counter the rest of Shona’s groceries and the newspaper he’d come in to buy.
“Well now, I reckon a young girl who dresses, and smells, like that can’t be too hard to track down now, can she?” The old woman smiled as Jonny blushed. “Bag that girl’s stuff up, will ya, Jake, there’s a good fella,” she ordered, nodding her head to the items on the counter, minus the newspaper which Jonny held out a coin for to Jake.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Clark,” Jake replied, placing the coin in the register. He wiped his hands down on his white apron and took out another brown paper bag.
Jonny looked down at his watch. “Well, you know I surely would help you with your bags, but Harry wants me to help him open up, so I’d better skedaddle. He’ll tan my hide if I’m late again…”
“It’s fine, go,” Dorothy replied. “Just slow down. You ain’t gonna get a lick of work done for Harry if you keep running around like a headless chicken.”
Jonny waved, forgetting to open the door before attempting to walk through it.
“How that boy’s made it to twenty-five years old I’ll never know,” Jake muttered through his bushy moustache as he handed over the bag to Dorothy.
Dorothy walked over to the alleyway entrance. About halfway down, a pair of scuffed brown leather boots sticking out from behind a green dumpster caught her squinting eyes.
“Hey. I got the rest of your food here,” Dorothy called out.
“Well… I reckon I’ll just have to leave this here. I ain’t running no delivery service.”
She leaned forward to put the bag down, her eyes still levelled at the dumpster. The peak appeared again.
“I don’t need no charity,” Shona snapped back, rubbing her shaking palm over the back of her neck.
“I ain’t offering you none,” Mrs. Clark replied flatly, standing back up straight. “You paid for these, remember? You can do what the hell you like with them. But I wouldn’t leave them too long down here, your furry little friend over here looks mighty interested. Hey fella, you want some cheese?”
She bent over to entice the green-eyed cat. It crept closer and sniffed around her ankles. The wrinkly corners of her mouth twitched at the flurry of movement behind the boxes as Shona jumped up and flew towards her.
“No, wait…”
Shona snatched the bag up off the ground before the cat could tear his claws into it, almost dropping it again in her haste.
“Why, you’re as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” Mrs. Clark exclaimed. “You running from the law or something?” Her smile vanished when she saw the look that flashed briefly across Shona’s pale face. Setting her thin lips in a straight line, the old lady returned to her matter-of-fact tone. “Well, one good turn deserves another—help me load my bags onto the truck, will ya?”
Grabbing her wooden cane, she walked back out of the alleyway to the street where her rusting blue Ford pick-up truck was parked. Shona obeyed, but as soon as she reached the sidewalk she paused, back on high alert. Mrs. Clark turned to glare at her, prompting Shona to quicken her step, fearing the wrath of the cantankerous old lady coming her way for the second time.
Across the street, two young men wearing navy blue turn-up jeans and plaid shirts laughed and jostled each other as they swaggered along the sidewalk.
“Frank, quit bein’ a son’bitch and gimme that back,” the taller, stockier of the two men complained as his gray newsboy cap was swiped off his sweaty, balding head. Tossing it up in the air, Frank’s stubbly face broke into a huge grin as he transferred it from hand to hand behind his own back. Eventually the cap was wrestled from him.
“Jeez, Chuck, what’s with the hissy fit? Can’t a guy have a little fun around here?” Frank protested, straightening his collar and running a comb through his jet-black hair.
“Yeah, but your idea of fun’s to be an asshole,” Chuck’s deep voice whined as he put his cap back on. Looking up, he caught sight of Frank’s glare. Dropping his shoulders, Chuck mumbled an apology, his thick lips quivering. He’d known Frank since they were five years old and was just as wary now of his unpredictable moods as he ever was, even though Chuck had grown to be over a foot taller.
As Frank opened his mouth to remind Chuck who was boss, two blonde-haired women in their early twenties carrying shopping bags and chatting quietly to each other walked up behind them. Stepping aside to let them pass, Frank’s leering gaze lingered on the front of one woman’s fitted pink blouse, then traveled downwards over her pencil skirt and shapely legs. The two women continued on their way, ignoring Frank’s lame attempt at conversation.
“If only you knew where your husbands were last night,” he muttered to himself, spitting on the ground to the side of him. Chuck slapped him on the arm with the back of his hand and pointed over to the light blue Ford truck parked on other side of the street.
“Boss, look what we got here. Check out over yonder, the broad standin’ with the dotty old bag from across town. Now, that’s a fine-lookin’ specimen, don’tcha think? I mean, she’s dressed a little funny but, well, damn.” Chuck grinned.
Frank let out a low whistle of agreement. His eyes drifted up over Shona’s slender body, which was now jacketless. He watched as she bent forward to pick up a bag, exposing the curve of her bosom beneath her undershirt.
“I ain’t seen her around here before. Reckon that’s her grandma?” Chuck asked.
“Maybe. You know what? I like to see new faces in town. You know why?” Frank raised an eyebrow at Chuck, who shrugged. “Because they don’t know my reputation around here.”
“Yet,” Chuck replied, curling his lip.
“Normally I’d get Jake in there to help me load up, but you look strong enough. Sling that wood there on the back of the truck, will ya.”
“Jeez, lady, don’t you ever say ‘please’?” Shona huffed as she threw her jacket and satchel down over the back of the truck.
“Well now. I do apologize. Please will you help me load my truck?” Mrs. Clark asked, stifling a smile.
Shona clenched her lips, trying to mask her own grin. “Alright, well… that’s a little better.” Reaching down to grab the bag of coal, she heaved it over the tailgate of the truck, then placed the string bag of kindling next to it.
“You staying with family while you’re in town?” Mrs. Clark asked.
Shona froze. “Um…” she mumbled, running a fingernail over the handle of the bag.
The old lady watched Shona’s reaction closely. “Well,” Dorothy continued with a twinkle in her eye, “while you’re trying to think up a name for which long-lost relative it is that you’ve come here to visit, you can load up the rest of the stuff. Then come and help me into the truck. I’m a little unsteady these days.”
Mrs. Clark climbed into the driving seat with the help of her cane and Shona’s arm. Struggling to swing her stocking-covered legs over the threshold, she maneuvered her feet into the footwell. When her legs were clear, Shona slammed the door, causing the windowpane to clatter. Within seconds of the ignition being fired up, the battered old diesel engine began kicking out plumes of white smoke behind it, the morning breeze blowing it back into Shona’s face. Coughing, she wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“When did you last get this heap of junk serviced?” Shona asked, slipping her jacket back on and her satchel over her shoulder.
“It runs, don’t it,” the old lady snapped back. “Well, what are you standing there bellyaching for? Get in!”
Shona opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. Drawing attention to herself was the last thing she needed right now. “No, I gotta get moving. I got places to be,” she replied, pulling her cap down over her eyebrows.
“What? You don’t expect me to be able to unload all’a this when I get home, do ya?” Mrs. Clark asked. “What’s your name anyways?”
“Shona,” she mumbled, climbing into the truck.
“Shona? Strange name. Shona what?”
“Just Shona,” she replied, a little firmer than before as she scanned the horizon.
“Alright. Well, I’m Mrs. Clark. I live just on the edge of town. What do you do for a living, Shona?”
“Um… well…” Shona began, trying to think of the quickest way out of that question too. The truck hit a pothole, bouncing Shona up in her seat and smacking her head against the roof. The black tape precariously holding the passenger side wing mirror on ripped off, sending it bouncing along the tarmac of the highway.
“Jeez,” Shona exclaimed, rubbing the bump on her head. She leaned out of the window and watched as the wing mirror smashed into pieces. “Lady, your truck’s falling to bits. You really need to get this thing seen to.”
Mrs. Clark looked in her rear-view mirror at the debris in the road and nodded. “Yeah I know, but it’s expensive taking her into the garage.” She paused as her face clouded over. “It ain’t easy, me being on my own.”
Shona looked over at the old lady, who was turning the wheel more widely than she needed to, her arthritic fingers gripping the leather as tightly as she could manage. Her eyes were squinting as they concentrated on the road ahead. Shona remained quiet and leaned against the truck door as the world trundled past her. They weren’t moving very fas
t; the truck simply wouldn’t have managed it but, even at thirty-three miles per hour, the panels still felt close to disintegrating with every mile of highway the balding tires ate up.
After about a mile, the truck wheel-spinned into the front drive of a rickety old cottage and crunched on the gravel below as the tires rolled to a halt. The little cottage had whitewashed weatherboarding on the outside and green timber framed windows. Mrs. Clark pulled the gear lever up, cursing under her breath as she cranked it into place.
Shona stepped out of the truck and took a closer look at the cottage. It had a porch swing on the veranda and a chicken pen on the far right hand side. On the top right of the roof there was a chimney. The front yard was a grassy lawn, with a gray cobblestone path parting it right up to the three steps that led up to the front door. She smiled as she took in the view of this cute little house that was in desperate need of some TLC.
“Nice place you got here,” Shona remarked, a glimmer of light shining in her tired eyes.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, it’s like the damn truck. Needs a heap of work done to it. But I can’t manage all that myself now, not since…” Mrs. Clark began, her voice becoming distant as she exited the truck and disappeared around the back to let the tail down.