The unwelcome clamour belonged to Billy Clements’ alarm clock. It boomeranged around the four walls of his small bedroom like the ball in a doubles tennis match. He had packed in readiness for the sojourn to Spain just as Tullen had done a few days prior but there the similarity ended. Unlike Tullen, Billy was haphazard in his style of packing. The previous evening he had visited the club as usual, supping four pints before returning home to throw a few items of underwear and socks into an Adidas kit bag. His dress sense was less than flamboyant, generally settling for jeans and a tee shirt but for his trip to Madrid Billy had purchased four polo shirts of contrasting shades. He had toyed with the idea of purchasing a Northern Ireland soccer strip but discarded the idea believing that it would make him, ‘Too fenian lukin,’ Being a true bigot, Billy would rather go buck naked than be seen in public wearing a garment of a green hue. Clements was oblivious to the feelings or political leanings of the female shop assistant. Which was just as well considering the fact that his utterance was greeted with an unprofessional glare. Neither did he notice her two-fingered gesture aimed at his retreating back. Billy stretched, yawned and eased himself from the bed. He padded across the floor making for the toilet and stubbing his little toe in the process. He gave a yelp, uttered an obscenity and aggravated the injury by kicking out at the offending object, which had caused it. ‘Fuck,’ he screamed, before limping toward the bathroom. After relieving himself, he studied his face in the mirror and scratched his lower abdomen before locating a rather threadbare toothbrush. Pre- breakfast routine was finalised with the stimulation of an ice cold shower. The first meal consisted of milk and corn flakes. A five-mile run generally followed then back to the flat for another shower before setting off for work. Today was different. Billy did not catch the Silverstream bus that would take him to the Belfast city centre. Instead he crossed to the other side of the road, whence he caught a black taxi which would take him to the Ballygomartin Road and Stan Curtis’ fruit and vegetable shop. After alighting from the cab, Billy glanced to his left then casually crossed the road to the greengrocer’s. ‘Shite,’ he mumbled, as he deliberated on the wording of the code. ‘What a load of bollocks. Why not, the winds blow from the south after the consumption of beans?’ he chuckled. Billy was still smiling wryly as he entered the greengrocer’s store. The expression remained as he sauntered to the counter to ask for four Spanish oranges. Curtis glanced up from his magazine. Business must be slack, Billy presumed.
‘Sorry no Spaniards to-day but we do have some nice Jaffas.’
‘Givus four then,’ replied Billy thinking, I wonder what this ass-hole would say if I told him to stuff them.’
‘There you are then. One pound twenty please.’
‘Jees,’ exclaimed Billy, ‘They must have flown them buggers in on the Concorde.’
‘Nothing cheap nowadays son,’ parried Curtis
‘That wud depend on what yer referrin too,’ countered Billy, slapping the money on the counter whilst snatching the bag from the shop keepers grasp.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ muttered the greengrocer visibly annoyed at the younger man’s attitude.’
‘Nothin squire, just gimme the fuckin oranges, all right.’
‘Okay, keep yer shirt on’ replied Curtis.’
‘Asti Spumanti baby,’ chuckled Billy, over his shoulder. He did not catch the shopkeeper’s reply, which cast serious doubts upon his antecedents. A few hundred yards along the road he stopped to examine the bag’s contents. Clements remembered that he did not see the man put anything but oranges in it.After taking a glance around he studied the bag’s contents and sure enough, there was a letter inside. ‘Didn’t see that bugger put the letter in. ‘Yer man’s a regular Paul
Daniels.’ He made a mental note never to play cards with the shopkeeper. ‘The bastard must have won the business playing poker,’ quipped Billy. A picture of Curtis sitting at a card table in a wild west saloon flashed into his mind. Laughing at the ridiculous notion he set off down the road whistling Viva Espania.