Dad liked to beat the system
and other people too sometimes.
When I needed new jeans
we walked into River Island
and he went straight to the men’s section,
taking a chequered shirt from a peg,
pulling off the top button
and marching to the cashier.
I stood next to him, not listening,
wondering if I could take a chew
from the bowl on the counter.
No, I haven’t got the receipt
but it’s damaged,
isn’t it?
You can see for yourself.
Look.
See?
Look there.
She quietly made him an offer.
No, I want my money back.
And another offer.
No, I don’t wanna exchange it.
The girl at the till was hardly older than I was –
hair in long plaits,
green eyeliner –
and I knew how it felt,
to be bombarded by him.
The best I can do is a credit note, she mumbled.
My manager isn’t back from lunch for an hour.
Dad drummed his fingers against the counter
and agreed,
slipping the card with the money on it into my hand
as we walked away.
Get yourself the jeans, he said.
I’ll be in the car. Hurry up.
It was the kindest thing he’d done in ages,
and it made me remember to love him.