Workman: Chapter Two - Part Four

7

 

There was an exit at the back of the steak house into the car park at the rear. I figured it would be a shortcut. And headed out that way, but when I got outside I heard a commotion.

There was a road running along the back of the car park with an entrance at each side. The car park serviced all the shops, many of which had entrances off it.

An Indian woman in her twenties or thirties was crossing the car park at a diagonal from one of the street exits wearing a raincoat and boots, a big bag over her shoulder. Walking along behind her were three youths with shaved heads, laughing and calling after her.

“Hey, Packie Patel! Give us a look under that skirt!”

“Packie!”

“Wog!”

“Leave me alone.” She hurried along, not quite running but going as fast as she could.

One of the skinheads pulled at her sleeve, “Come on Packie! Let’s see what you got under there!”

“Get off! Let me be!”

She moved faster but they started whooping. The one who’d grabbed her ran in front and walked backwards, leering at her. “C’mon darling. Give us a kiss. I wanna know what it’s like fuckin a Packie.”

“Hey!”

All four of them stopped. They looked my way. It was only then that I realised it was me that had shouted. I suddenly had a very bad feeling.

The woman looked visibly relieved but the faces of the thugs turned instantly hostile. The one who’d walked in front of her shouted, “Stay out’ve it! It’s none of your business!”

I considered going back inside. There were three of them and only one of me, and I’d never been in a fight in my life. But the woman looked desperate and I was the only one who could protect her. I had an urge to do so that it was difficult to resist, despite the unlikelihood that I could see them off.

My only hope was to act like a man. I was big and tough-looking. If I looked threatening they might they might just leave.

“It’s my business if you’re hassling that lady!” I called, stepping forward, making my hands into fists. “You better leave her alone!”

“Or what?” snarled the skinhead.

“Or else… Or else you’ll have me to answer to!”

The thugs exchanged looks, then they all looked back at me simultaneously and grinned. As one, they started walking my way. The leader smacked his fist into his open palm; then he did it again. And again.

I took a half step back then fixed eyes on the woman once more. She had been left behind by them now, in the clear, but she was looking at me filled with anxiety.

“Are you a Packie-lover then, eh?” said the leader. One of the others giggled. “You think it’s alright that they’re here stealing jobs of proper Brits?”

For half a second I panicked, not sure what to say or do, then words just started coming out of my mouth. “I do like Indians as a matter of fact. Because I’m not a racist twat. And she has just as much right to be here as you or I. Britain’s made up of immigrants – it always has been – the Romans, the French, the Norweigans; you name it. Besides,” I said. “Stealing our jobs? I don’t know why you’re saying that. Looking like you fucking do, no one would bloody employ you.”

“What did you fucking say?” They came round me, forming an arc now, no more than five feet from me to them and no way out behind me besides clambering over a line of wheelie bins.

I looked the leader in the eye. “I said, if you need someone to hate then hate your-fucking-selves. You’re bloody Nazis.”

The leader’s face showed a shadow of doubt and I almost thought I might have shamed him enough to back out.

Then one of his friends stepped in and threw a nasty punch hard in against my cheek. The pain was extraordinary and it threw me back against the nearest wheelie bin.

This wasn’t going to go well. I struggled back upright, glowering back at them. I tried to see the woman but she was nowhere in sight.

Every remembered instinct told me to beg for mercy or cry or try and break out and run. Instead, I said, “There. You see? To top it all you’re a pack of wimps.”

They glared back at me and all doubt drained out of the leader’s face. The three of them tensed, ready for attack. I roared and charged into the leader, making fists and pummeling up into his stomach with a right and a left and then a right.

He tried to push me away and then one of the others, grabbed the back of my shirt with two hands, pulling me backwards. My balance went crazy for a minute, then the third one smacked me again. Then the leader did. Then the one behind did something hard and brutal to my kidneys.

I cried out in pain, almost losing my footing, but I knew if I went down I was finished. They were wearing steel toe-capped boots. If they started kicking then they might actually kill me!

I punched out, hitting one of them in the stomach and another in the thigh. I got hit in the side of the head and then again in the cheek.

This had been a really bad idea.

I punched the leader in the chest and then in the face but he swung out with a backhand, repelling me with the impact then the other two hammered in again. The leader raised his foot and booted me against the wheelie bins. I struck them hard and lost my balance, going down.

My knees hit the pavement and then my hands.

This was it. It was over.

And then I heard shouting and the skinheads pulled away from me.

“Leave him alone! Get away from him!”

It was the Indian woman. And she had half a dozen big blokes with her that she’d found inside the steakhouse.

“Get out of it!” shouted one of the blokes and all three of the skinheads scarpered without a word, the men running after them, calling.

The woman ran over to me, taking hold of my arm and back. “Are you alright?” She tried to help me lift my torso.

I was aching all over but I didn’t need to go to the hospital. “I’m fine,” I said.

She helped me get up. I leaned against one of the bins for support. “They could have killed you. You could have been really hurt.”

“It’s alright.” I chuckled. “I was just about to take them all down.”

She smiled, looking relieved. “You shouldn’t have got involved.”

“Are you kidding me? I have to save at least one damsel in distress a day or they revoke my license.”

That made her giggle. I didn’t know where I was getting it from.

I carefully touched the bruises on my face and arm. “Besides,” I said. “They hardly did anything. This is nothing.”

She touched my wrist. “Well… Let me buy you a drink, to say thank you; okay?”

I hadn’t realised how beautiful she was, but suddenly now, up close and with the same automatic appraising glance I’d given the barmaid and the other women inside the steak house, I saw that she was. She was stunning actually.

I had a feeling this was a bad idea, but I did need to sit down for a while and I felt like another beer would make me feel better. And I wanted to be near this woman. I felt a compulsion to do so.

“Okay, sure,” I said. “Why not? I guess getting the crap beat out of me deserves one drink at least.”

“At least,” she said, taking my arm.

8

 

The woman’s name was Sangeeta and it turned out she was more grateful than one drink in payment. She had plied me with a third and was already plying me with a fourth in the pub next door to the steakhouse.

The Hunter’s Moon was a dark place, half of it an open sports bar, the other half made up almost exclusively of booths, each one nestled in a pool of overhead light. The music was loud enough to give the impression that every booth was free-floating in space, completely separate from the others.

Sangeeta was laughing. She had a beautiful melodious laugh that I could have listened to all night. I took the moment to really observe her.

She was an outstanding beauty with thick dark hair that fell most of the way down her back, and really smooth perfect skin. Her eyes were big and round and captured all the available light. She was wearing a silk top that left her arms bare.

I was feeling really loose and tipsy now; really relaxed. I couldn’t believe how long I’d stayed a man now and knew I should get out as soon as possible, but I couldn’t quite build up the motivation, I was enjoying Sangeeta’s company so much. She went on laughing, making me chuckle myself. She laid her hand on my chest as the laughing subsided.

“Well I don’t see why I should tell you about my love life,” she said. She winked at me. “Unless you’re willing to put some official interest on the table.”

She tickled my chest and withdrew her hand, making me blush. “Uh, well…”

“Relax big boy,” she said, smiling. “I know men fall apart when they get put on the spot.”

We’d talked for a couple of hours already, the conversation sliding from one topic to another easily and freely. She was a very funny lady and a lot of it was playful banter with just a smidgeon of sexy undertones. She was a beautician with a little tiny shop in Tower Gates shopping centre in town which I, uncomfortably, had seen and considered going in myself. Sangeeta’s Beauty Bower.

For myself, I’d kept things vague. She knew I was doing up my parents’ house here in Chauncy and that I was from out of town; that was about it. Apart from that we’d talked in generalities mostly, a bit about the town and how it was for outsiders. She’d moved here from London only eighteen months earlier.

“If you must know,” she said, “I’m on the run.”

“Really?”

“Sort of.” She smirked. “Well I am now.”

“From who?”

“My father.” She shrugged. “He wants me to marry a nice Indian gentleman he had lined up for me in the capital.”

“And you don’t want to?”

“He’s a complete drip.” She laughed. “Really awful! I have tried to like him – met him a few times – but I really don’t want him.”

“And they can’t… set you up with someone different?”

She flashed her eyebrows. “This is the tenth one. My father is beside himself. He thinks I’m going native; rejecting my culture…” She looked off thoughtfully.

Before I could stop them, my eyes took a quick dip to her breasts then back up again.

“And are you?” I said.

She turned back to me, her chin resting on her hand then grinned through her fingers. “I’m afraid to say he’s a bit behind the times. I went native about five minutes after I arrived in Britain.”

We both laughed.

“Forget about it,” she said. “I’d rather hear more about you, my big strong handsome hero.” She touched my cheek.

For a long second I let her keep her hand there feeling warm and relaxed, then I remembered myself and jerked back, embarrassed. “You know just about everything there is to know,” I said evasively.

“Surely not.”

“You do.”

She pretended to think. “Let me see… I know that you’re not from here. That you like plaid. That you’re a Heineken man.” She leant closer, putting her hand on mine. “That you can’t stand by if a woman is in trouble, even if you get in trouble yourself as a result.”

I felt myself flushing again but I didn’t pull my hand away.

She placed her other hand on my forearm. “That you have the most incredible eyes I’ve ever seen on a man.”

I looked into her face, at her eyes, her moist glistening lips. Without thinking about it, I started to lean closer and she came to meet me. Her fingers rose, tracing the contour of my chin. Her eyes closed. My eyes closed too.

There was nothing else in my mind but the desire for her.

Then we kissed and it was the most magical heart-stopping moment. Everything else fell under gauze. Our lips came together, my mouth watering, and it was a perfectly consuming sensation more complete and encompassing than any other kiss before it.

It went on, pulsing, and then so very slowely, we came apart, her eyes glistening at mine with fire and passion.

“Are you alright?” she asked, alarmed. “You look awful.”

I pushed back. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” I got to my feet. “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry, that shouldn’t have happened.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

She looked crestfallen, desperate for me to stay, but I couldn’t do it. This was wrong. I wasn’t a man. I was a woman. I was meant to be. I shouldn’t be attracted to this person. She was a woman like me.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, stepping away from the booth. “I’m really sorry. I have to go. I have an early start in the morning.”

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No. There’s nothing wrong with you,” I replied. That was the problem. “I just have to go.”

I turned my back on her.

“Will you be here tomorrow night?” she asked, but I didn’t reply. I had to get out of there. This had all been so wrong. It wasn’t fair on her. I couldn’t lead her on like that. I shouldn’t have let it get as far as it did.

I pushed out into the night air, wanting nothing more than to go back inside, but I  didn’t let myself, I set my feet for home and started walking.

I had to get back there. I had to get out of this body. And I had to get rid of that stupid ring!