Brush With Fame by Andrene Low

Author:Andrene Low
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Squabbling Sparrows Press

24

Letting herself quietly out of the back door the following morning, Jennie walks briskly down the side path, pulling on the straps of her backpack when she turns onto the pavement. She can’t help the occasional nervous peek over her shoulder.

When she reaches the greasy spoon in Chiswick High Road, the smell of bacon and her tummy rumbling is a prominent reminder that she hasn’t had breakfast yet.

“Can I please have two bacon butties and a couple of cups of tea?” Jennie counts out the exact change onto the pale yellow Formica flap that separates her from the cooking side of the enterprise.

“Eat in or takeaway, luv?”

“Takeaway.”

Do I really look piggy enough that I’d sit here and hoover my way through two sandwiches and two teas?

Apparently so.

Her stomach continues to rumble as she watches the large woman behind the counter assemble the sandwiches. An artery-clogging amount of butter is slathered onto four slabs of white bread before half a pig’s worth of bacon is piled on two slices and the others then slapped on top. The sandwiches are wrapped in necessary greaseproof paper and then shoved into a small plastic bag that struggles with their combined bulk.

Two polystyrene cups are filled from a large aluminium teapot before everything is handed to her. Slipping one arm through the handle of the bag, Jennie carries a cup in each hand. She’s standing next to the door wondering how on earth she’s supposed to open it, when another customer arrives.

Jennie puts her head out and checks in both directions, before allowing her body to exit the shop. She walks briskly toward their street, where she peers around the large hedge that borders the vacant section on the corner. The coast is clear as far as she can see. She nips through the gap in the hedge without anyone calling her name. Then she slows, not sure how to go from here, it being a difficult situation to plan for.

Walking toward to the shanty hugging the trunk of the large tree that dominates the section, she’s hoping Chicken George is at home.

“Hello!” Her voice cracks, meaning anyone inside won’t be able to hear her, even if the walls are paper thin. “Hello!” The loudness of this second greeting, gives Jennie a start. Rustling from inside lets her knows that George is indeed in for callers. He crawls out of the small doorway, looking frightened. Allowing her voice to drop to a more soothing level, Jennie adds, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He doesn’t speak, even after he’s staggered to his feet. Jennie hadn’t realised how big he is, only having seen him in the distance. Maybe Mark was right?

His hair adds to his height, dreadlocked simply through not having been washed for a long time. Every crease on his dark, weathered face is filled with dirt; his nut-brown eyes are full of pain, the likes of which Jennie has only seen before on dogs at the SPCA. His clothing is also

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