Lend us a Tenner by Graham Crisp

“He’s a bit of a weirdo, that Rob fella, where’d he come from?” Dave Atkinson and Paul Lambert stood watching Rob Parsons load a cement mixer onto the back of a pick-up truck. Paul shook his head, “Dunno mate, the Gaffa took him on, I think it’s one of his ‘rehabilitation’ men, if you know what I mean.” Paul raised his eyebrows and gave his colleague a sly wink. Dave nodded, “Our Gaffa, I mean he’s a nice bloke ‘n everything, but he ain’t half a love and peace lefty, always sees the good in fellas, eh?” 

Paul shrugged, “Yeah, and remember you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his ‘love and peace’ mentality. I mean you had a ‘brush’ a while ago, didn’t you?” Dave stared down at his steel toe capped boots, and muttered, “Yeah, well that’s all behind me, I’m a top-class worker now, ain’t I!” He playfully shoved Paul in the small of his back. “Oh, and by the way, you couldn’t lend me a tenner just until payday, I’m skint and I fancy a pint tonight.” 

“I’ll pay you back.” 

Paul dipped his hand into his overall pocket and pulled out a battered wallet, “Here, just until payday mind, or I’ll send the boys round.” Dave took the proffered note and nodded his thanks. “Anyway, talking of this Rob geezer, do you know he’s doing some sort of Uni course. I saw a book in his cab. Crimin … er … well some sort of an ‘olergy.’ I reckon he’s got brains under that thick skull of his.” Paul tapped the top of his head. Dave laughed, “Mate, it’s Criminology, my sister is doing it, she wants to be a social worker or summit.” 

“Oh ‘kin ‘ell, just what this country needs, another bloody social worker!” 

Published in Issue #9

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