Chapter 24
GRAHAM
Graham waits patiently for his turn at the counter.
He watches other customers as they mull over their choice of meats, sausages or joints for the day.
Perhaps they have their usual order in mind, or maybe they have special visitors coming to stay and want to wow them with locally produced pork and lamb.
He has to admit, the apple and mint sausages are appealing.
They’ll sizzle up nicely in a pan, alongside some thick gravy.
Perhaps he’ll get a few for dinner tonight, seeing as he has a house guest for the foreseeable future.
There’s also a nice selection of beef roasting joints, something he hasn’t eaten in decades.
His parents used to cook a beef joint for Christmas every year rather than the traditional whole turkey, and now, whenever he sees one, he is taken back to his childhood; the smell of beef fat, horseradish and a huge Yorkshire pudding or two, complete with a ladle of thick gravy, made with the drippings.
‘Croeso, Mr Williams, what can I get for you, good sir?’ asks Mr Davies. He has a blue and white striped apron on, stained pink in places, a butcher’s hat and a see-through plastic wrap around his greying beard.
Graham hasn’t realised he’s reached the front of the line and Mr Davies is waiting for his order. ‘Six of those apple and mint sausages please, and … a pig heart.’
Mr Davies stops as he reaches out his hand, using a piece of plastic wrap, to pick up the sausages in a clump. He only pauses for a moment, but it’s enough for Graham to notice. He watches Mr Davies as he attempts to brush off the awkwardness and places the sausages on the scales.
‘A pig heart, Mr Williams?’ He places the sausages into a bag and prints out a price label, slapping it on the side where it attaches at a wonky angle.
‘Do you not have any in today?’
‘I’m afraid not, but what use would you have in buying one? Pig hearts aren’t a common request for most customers, not on the whole. They mainly get used to make offal and faggots.’
‘I fancy attempting to make some faggots.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you get many requests for pig hearts?’
‘Couple times a month, I suppose. Mostly from Diane Bevan. She feeds them to her dogs. She provides me with all the pork products, you see, so I give her all the leftover parts of the animals, considering they were raised on her farm.’
Mr Davies hands the bag of sausages to Graham who takes it with a slight head nod.
The men lock eyes. The whole butcher’s shop has elapsed into silence.
Graham looks around at the array of customers, all of whom have clearly been eavesdropping on their conversation, but then it is a small shop, and Graham hadn’t been making an effort to lower his voice.
Sometimes, it’s worth speaking a little louder. You never know who might be listening.
‘Can I get you anything else, Mr Williams?’ asks Mr Davies, a fresh smile across his face.
‘No, thank you, Mr Davies. You’ve been most helpful.’
‘I’m sorry about the lack of pig hearts, but I’ll be sure to let you know the next time I have some in. However, I do have some fresh faggots today, if you fancied trying some?’
Graham nods his thanks. ‘Maybe another time. Thank you,’ he says just before turning around to leave. Several of the customers behind him give him odd looks, but don’t say anything.
‘Diwrnod da,’ says Mr Davies.
Graham leaves, feeling many eyes boring into the back of his head as he allows the door to swing closed behind him.