George Thompson removed the tray of buns from the oven. The smell that wafted behind the steam that rose from them was intoxicating. You cannot beat the smell of quality bread fresh from the oven, he thought.
Looking round the small bakery he was pleased with his days work. All of the cakes, pastries and breads from yesterday had sold out and he had the majority of tomorrow’s stock either chilling or ready for the nightshift lad to bake off later on. He turned as the back door opened and the delivery driver came in smiling.
‘Owt left Ray?’
‘All gone boss, managed to flog a few extra bits down at Coopers at dinner time.’
He handed over a money bag and George opened it. Without checking or counting the contents he removed a tenner and gave it back to him.
‘Woah boss, no need to keep giving us extra cash. You already pay us more than you have to.’
George smiled back at him. Since inheriting Ray from the previous owner ten years ago he had never once short-changed him, been late or took the piss in any way.
‘You deserve it mate. Quality work should always be rewarded. Stick it towards your lad’s Uni fees.’
This was a source of pride for Ray, he’d waxed lyrical about his son since George had got to know him soon after buying the bakery. He knew all about how money had been tight in their house before the previous owner had given him a job and encouraged young Michael to do his homework with one of his sons and use his computer. He’d been told many times how after a bullying episode the two lads had ended up firm friends and were often out on the town. Most of all though, he’d heard the joy in Ray’s voice when he talked about how his son had dragged himself from the poverty trap through sheer hard work on the foundations of his parent’s own graft.
‘I will then boss, he’s got a few quid in the tin I haven’t told him about yet – should come in handy when he moves down there.’
Ray went to get his jacket from the little staff room and George thought again how lucky he was to have bought this place for a pittance. The previous owner even allowed him an interest free loan, which he had paid off a few years ago now, because as he said ‘I want to see people like me thrive not fucking banks.’
He heard the bell on the shop door tinkle as he was putting the last tray in the ‘to-do’ rack for later on and smiled to himself at the thought of his wife selling off what was left at a cut-price to finish off the day.
He was interrupted in his thoughts by Penny as she came through and grabbed his arm. She looked worried. Very worried.
‘George,’ she whispered, ‘there’s two men asking for you…they’re very big and very rough looking.’
As he hurried through George felt the long-forgotten sensation of rapid adrenalin rise through his body. Since leaving Byker as a young teenager he‘d had a sheltered and more privileged upbringing but those early days on the estate when he’d ran with Tommy Kinghorn’s gang had left their mark.
He wasn’t a hard man, he could have a fight if necessary, that had been proven in his youth, but it just wasn’t his thing and he knew, from experience with the Kinghorn’s exactly what “rough looking men” entering a seemingly thriving local business was going to entail.
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