Thursday, 26 May 2016

David Morgan's - Or when Kyle Met Mandy

For audio click here
“I didn’t do nothing,” Kyle protested as the security guard led him towards the door.
“That’s exactly the point. We don’t want hooligans like you hanging around, doing nothing in our shop. Either you buy something, or you get out. Doing nothing is not an option.”
“It’s a free bloody country,” Kyle protested, but the guard was not negotiating. As he was being manhandled Kyle noticed the guard was called Paul Young. Ha, like the singer, what was the song? Where ever I lay my hat, that’s my home.
The guard slapped his hands like he was getting flour off them as he shoved the scrawny kid out the door of David Morgan’s and on to the Hayes.
The rain was still tumbling down from the dark cloud that had plonked itself down over Cardiff about an hour ago and didn’t look to be moving any time soon. That had been the reason Kyle had gone into the shop in the first place, he just wanted shelter from the rain. He had no intention of spending money in the stuffy old department store, but it was warm and dry and the toilets were clean. What he really wanted to do now was to sit in the Wimpy opposite the Arms Park and drink tea and stare at the girl who worked there. But he was ten pence short. He could go home but that was boring and anyway he was meeting Davey later.
“Fuck it!” he said as the rain drops fell on his head. “Fuck it!” Why should he put up with being treated like that? He was going to have some fun.  He watched the security guard disappear back into the store and waited for a few shoppers to enter and then nipped back in himself. Now, it was a game of cat and mouse. He could see the uniformed man up in front of him. He crept around, following the guard, hiding behind mannequins and perfume counters each time the oaf stopped and looked around.
“Paul,” he whispered and watched the guard turn around looking for whoever had called him. “Paul!” Kyle put and hand over his mouth trying to supress a giggle.
“Paul,” he said in a deeper voice. Again the guard turned and looked confused.
The guard shrugged and walked off, he was far too important for silly games.  Kyle carefully followed him.
“Mr Young!” he said,  and hid behind a clothes rack. There in front of him were a display of hair clips and ribbons. He picked up a pack of clips, put his head above the parapet and launched the package towards the guard. It couldn’t have been a better shot. It smacked him right between the shoulder blades. Kyle ducked down again.
“You, I’ll get you, you little…” Kyle realised that the guard had spotted him in a mirror. He leapt up and ran. He zigzagged through the dusty shop. He side-stepped a pillar, then knocked hats off a grandiose display and sent a frumpy, middle aged customer flying backwards.
“Come back here you little sod!” Paul Young yelled.
Kyle skidded round the corner.
“Quick in here,” a female voice said. A door flew open in front of him. He ducked inside and it slammed shut. He knew that voice, who was it?
“Where the hell is he?” The guard yelled from outside.
Kyle tried to pant as quietly as possible. He was in a dark cupboard. Only now did he stop to think. Shit, that voice, it was Mandy Clarke. He used to fancy her but she’d called him a retard in maths and he’d started that rumour that she’d given Mark Williams a hand job. She was bound to dob him in, get her revenge. He held his breath, wiping sweat off his brow.
“I don’t know Mr Young,” he heard Mandy say. “I think he went that way.”
“Thanks Mandy.”
Two minutes later the cupboard door opened.
“You owe me a milk shake Kyle Robinson.” Mandy smiled at him. “Meet you tomorrow, 12 o’clock outside the Wimpy. Now get out of here.”

Kyle did as he was told, but this time there was a smile on his face as he left the store. He couldn’t believe his luck.

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