TUPPENCE A BAG – Kristine Kennedy
The hardwood door flew open with as much force as a solid oak door can. Several people in close proximity turned their heads towards the intrusion. A man stood in the doorway, his eyes darting frantically around the room, tie askew and the sleeve of his suit bunched up under his armpit where a skateboard was wedged. He finally found what he was looking for and strode over toward the bar, where another middle aged man was perched, looking rather more appropriate in a well-pressed suit, orderly tie and, importantly, sans skateboard.
‘What in shitting blazers are you doing with that skateboard Henry?’
‘What? Oh. This? Nothing.’ Henry dislodged it and leant it up against the bar as naturally as he could muster. He ran a hand through his hair.
‘Nothing? Don’t be stupid. You look a damn fool with it. Why do you have it? You didn’t ride it here did you?’
‘How long have you bloody known me Jarvis? Do you think, at any time in life, I’ve suffered an inclination to ride a skateboard? For God’s sake.’
‘Well! Explain yourself man. Before I, along with every other deadbeat and rubber-neck in this place start concocting our own ideas.’
Henry smoothed his hair again and carried on to his neck, tie and brushed down the front of his suit. ‘There was a minor incident on the way here, is all.’
‘Minor?’ Jarvis narrowed his eyes in a look Henry knew all too well. It meant – what the shitting shit have you done now you useless bloody ball-bag?
‘Yes minor. Nothing really. But why a grown man would ride a skateboard? Honestly. Nevermind. Forget it. Tell me again why we’re here please Jarvis? A bloody brewery in the arse end of nowhere is not my idea of a good time or good networking.’
‘So help me Henry, if I have to extinguish any fires relating to a ‘skateboard incident’ you can consider your trajectory within our party as straight, bloody down. You got me?’
‘Yes. Noted. Now. What’s this all about again?’
‘It’s about…’ Jarvis exhaled as a patient parent would when explaining something to a toddler, ‘celebrating job creation in the service industry. It’s about how our leaving the EU is bringing more employment opportunities to actual British people.’
‘I tell you what,’ Henry gestured towards a bartender who was skilfully carrying 4 pints, ‘she doesn’t look too bloody British to me.’
‘British people can actually be black Henry. In fact, quite a lot of them are.’
Henry grunted. ‘So what do I have to do?’
‘Simply read this speech I’ve prepared for you and then get off the mic. I do not want you answering questions today. I do not want you commenting on Trump’s visit to England. I do not want you commenting on any protocols re. meeting the Queen. In short, I don’t want you to say a single fucking thing that I’ve not written down here for you.’
Henry cocked his head to the side and smirked in a way that would lose countless votes. ‘I bet no-one speaks to Trump like that.’
Jarvis groaned.
‘No. Seriously. Everyone is terrified of him and so, they respect him.’
‘No Henry. No they don’t. Everyone thinks Trump is as dumb as bag of hammers. Why you would ever want to be held in the same esteem as him makes me wonder if you’re not also an enormous arse-trumpet.’
‘’Scuse me gents,’ the proprietor interrupted. ‘But the stage is ready, if you want to crack on with this?’
‘Thanks Nick.’ Jarvis said as he slid off his bar stool and gathered his briefcase. Henry slid off his barstool and gathered his skateboard.
‘Give me that you damn twat.’ Jarvis said while ripping the skateboard out from under Henry’s armpit.
‘Ow! The bloody wheel hit my nipple.’ Henry rubbed his chest.
‘Get up there.’ Jarvis ushered him up onto the small stage, which blocked the punters’ view of the microbrewery behind.
Henry fiddled with the microphone tapping and blowing into it until a piercing sound captured everyone’s attention. He ran his hand through his hair again.
‘Welcome, welcome. Thank you ever so much for joining us here at…’ Henry examined his paper, ‘Tuppence A Bag Microbrewery. I’d like to take this opportunity to firstly thank Nick, who has kindly offered this striking space for us all to come together and celebrate the return of service industry jobs to those who truly deserve them. The British people!’
Jarvis cheered heartily at this point, encouraging the beer-swilling throng to do the same. But it seemed that whatever reasons had brought them to Tuppence A Bag today, it wasn’t to hear a conservative Brexiteer spruik the upturn of national employment.
‘Before leaving the EU, our country was struggling. No. Not struggling. We were in crisis. A deep, morale-sapping crisis. Good, hard-working British people could not find jobs and times were lean. Well I’m here to say this: not any more my friends. No longer will we sit by while our jobs go to visiting foreigners. No longer will…’
Jarvis heard a commotion developing outside. He allowed himself a moment to peer out the window and saw a number of men, some sporting beanies, some sporting beards, all with skateboards, forming a tight, loud circle around presumably the instigator. More men arrived. More skateboards. Jarvis noticed the gang leader, the only man without a skateboard, pointing furiously at the Tuppence A Bag window.
He turned back towards Henry who was still holding court.
‘I’ve lived here all my damn life and I could never hope to know every protocol surrounding walking with the Queen. He’s a target for the left-wing propagandists is all. Fake bloody news as they say.’
The door burst open.
Jarvis slunk out.