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Liam Bolton worked in the dispensary at Shipton’s pharmacy near the Lensfield estate in Persford. As it was in one of the less affluent areas, he parked his car about a quarter of a mile away in a road where he felt it was less likely to be vandalised. He had worked there since leaving school, starting as a shop assistant and had then received on the job training to assist the pharmacist by assembling the items to fulfil the prescription requests.
The problem with this particular branch as Liam saw it, was that the customers were increasingly likely to be from the immigrant community. The adjacent medical centre was the nearest to the old Ministry of Defence (MOD) site which had become housing for a number of refugees from Syria. He’d taken a drive through it and had looked with envy at the housing. He would so love to be able to afford his own place but despite working he was still sharing a house with other people. The alternative was staying with his parents but they had made it quite clear it was time he stood on his own two feet.
Also, the cheaper housing in the area in the area surrounding the pharmacy was taken by a significant proportion of people moving to the UK. In Liam’s view, most of them seemed to be in receipt of free prescriptions whereas he and his family had to pay for theirs.
That morning he was working in the shop instead of the dispensary as one of the girls had phoned in sick.
‘Who’s next, can I help anyone?’ asked Liam.
A woman stepped forward. ‘A prescription for Aisha Kouri, please.’
‘How do you spell that?’
The woman hesitated. ‘K-O-U-R-I,’ she said slowly as Liam began to tap his fingers on the counter.
‘And your Christian name?’ he smiled. ‘Oh, sorry, your first name?’ he asked, chuckling to himself.
The customer proceeded to spell her first name.
‘I’ll go and check,’ said Liam.
He made a show of searching the packaged prescriptions in the dispensary but in truth, he wasn’t really looking.
‘No, sorry, it’s not been done. When did you bring it in?’
‘I take it to medical centre, they send it here.’
‘But when?’
‘I think a few days ago.’
‘You need to leave at least three days for it to be prepared,’ he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. ‘Come back tomorrow.’
‘But I have come on the bus. It should be ready now.’
‘No it’s not,’ said Liam sternly.
‘Please can you check and I will wait,’ she said.
‘We are very busy, it’s best you come back tomorrow.’
‘Who’s next?’ asked Liam, deciding he had finished with the customer before him. He recognised one of his regulars. ‘Ah, Mrs Weston, how are you today?’
‘Oh, not too bad Liam, mustn’t grumble.’
‘Your hair is looking lovely today,’ he added.
‘Oh, thank you. I like to look smart, I think it’s important.’ She looked critically at the young man next to her dressed in a tracksuit and trainers. Liam’s gazed strayed to the customer who was clearly overweight and unhealthy looking. Liam took pride in his appearance to the point of vanity. He had his hair trimmed every few weeks and enjoyed wearing smart clothes at all times. He felt they set him apart from the masses and boosted his confidence. He’d once overheard one of the assistants whispering about his clothes but it didn’t worry him. If anything, he was pleased that people were clearly jealous.
‘I wonder whether my prescription is ready?’ She leaned over to whisper. ‘I only put it in two days ago but I was passing so I wondered whether you could make it up for me?’
‘No problem,’ winked Liam. ‘Take a seat.’
He went into the dispensary and looked up her details on the computer terminal. He could see that in fact her prescription had only come into the shop that morning but he took a plastic tray and set about collecting the necessary packets of pills and he placed it right at the front of the queue for checking. He went over to the seated Mrs Weston, ‘It will just be a couple of minutes,’ he said, then lowering his voice he added, ‘providing our friend pulls his finger out and checks it,’ he said, indicating with his head towards the pharmacist.
‘Oh, Liam, don’t be a naughty boy. These Indian chappies have to get work somewhere you know. I just wish it was somewhere else,’ she whispered, sniffing slightly at her last comment.
Liam smiled, he liked Mrs Weston, they were on the same wavelength. She reminded him of his nan who had died a couple of years ago. He missed his chats with his nan, putting the world to rights.
Whilst he had been busy in the back of the dispensary, Aisha Kouri had accosted the pharmacist, Harjit Agarwal as he emerged to hand out a prescription to a customer. Harjit had moved to Persford five years ago after qualifying at University College in London. His parents had moved to the UK from India in the seventies and he had been born here in 1992. He remembered this particular prescription as it was for a slow release version of a medicine to help with stomach and bowel cramps and he had to order further supplies as they didn’t have enough.
‘Liam?’ he called. ‘Mrs Kouri’s prescription. It’s definitely here. Can you check again please?’
Liam was furious. He’d told her to come back the next day and she had refused to accept what he said. Now he was going to look a fool in front of the pharmacist. He went over to the boxes where he knew her prescription would be. Then he looked in the adjacent one.
‘Oh, here it is! Someone put it in the wrong place. I wish people would be more careful.’
The pharmacist took it from him and personally took it out to Mrs Kouri. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, ‘and for the wait.’
‘Thank you very much,’ she replied and left the shop.
‘Is Mrs Weston’s prescription ready yet?’ asked Liam brusquely.
‘I need to do the rest before that one,’ replied Harjit. ‘There is a queue.’
Liam returned to the front of the shop and once more went over to Mrs Weston. ‘It won’t be long. So sorry that things are slow this morning.’ He leaned over to her. ‘I think he has trouble with the English language,’ and he rolled his eyes.
Mrs Weston tutted and nodded. ‘It’s the same everywhere. I remember the days when you Mr Somerville was the pharmacist. He was so nice. And efficient,’ she said pointedly looking over towards the dispensary. ‘But what can you do?’
Liam shook his head in sympathy. Mrs Weston recognised there was a problem but had rolled over and accepted the downward spiral in society as he saw it. It was understandable, she was elderly and probably didn’t have the energy to fight the situation. However, he could and he intended to do something about it. It was time to stand up and be counted.
