The Butcher, the Baker, and the Ironmonger

by Wendy Reakes

      They stood at the bar. It was Sunday lunchtime down the Old Dog and Goose and it was men only.

      “Trade was good last week, George, my boy,” Vincent Smith said, raising his glass to his mouth and draining it. He placed it back onto the countertop and nodded for another round.

      “Better get one in for Benny. He’s on his way over,” George watched Vincent lean on the bar, waiting silently as the landlord poured three fresh glasses. Yes, trade was good last week, he thought. His hardware store had been struggling for years, ever since they opened that big DIY superstore on the retail park across town. The three of them considered themselves lucky to have the villagers; their diehard regulars who frequented their local shops in favour of the giants.

      The pub’s front door opened and sunshine streamed in to the darkened bar. The chatter around the room paused for a moment as all heads turned towards Benny’s enormous frame silhouetted against the light, as he wiped his shoes on the mat.

      “There’s the man,” Vincent boomed. “Old Benny Baker, the baker.”

      Benny approached the bar and took his glass, the middle one of the three sitting side by side, each black pint full to the brim with a half-inch head, white and creamy. “Don’t you get fed up with that line, Vince?” he said, taking a sip, “It gets a bit tedious when you’ve been saying it every day for the past forty years.”

      Vincent slammed the flat of his enormous hand on Benny’s shoulder. “No, I just thank God my family name wasn’t Butcher. Now that would have been funny.” 

      The three men; the butcher, the baker and the ironmonger stood side by side at the bar as they lifted their glasses in unison, raising them to their thirsty lips.

      “I can’t stay long,” Vincent announced. “I want to get Mrs Pennington’s order ready for the morning.

      “Me, too,” Benny said

      “Same here!” George muttered.

      Vincent turned his great frame towards the two other men, leaning his elbow on the bar. “Here we go again. A new week, a new fight, is it?”  he challenged, shaking his head. The other two remained tight-lipped. “Come on boys,” he boomed. “This has been going on for six weeks now and you’ve still got the gloves off.”

      “What, and you reckon she’s yours for the taking, do you, Vince?” Benny prompted.

      “Well, I do believe she’ll favour my lamb chops over your crusty loaves any time.” Vincent joked.

      “And what about you, George? A fine looking woman like that……I suppose you fancy your chances, too? ”

      George remained silent, letting the two men get on with it. It’s true; he had to admit to being a little smitten. Mrs Pennington was certainly a fine looking woman. Recently widowed and more than a little well-endowed, she had a smile and a manner about her that simply brightened his day. She was gracious and charming, and she always took a moment to chat. Unlike his two friends, George didn’t have the confidence to assume she’d reciprocate his admiration. After all, what would a lady like that, see in an old goat like him?

      The following morning the butcher, the baker and the ironmonger opened their doors. The three shops were side by side, their brightly coloured awnings providing a shelter for shoppers gazing through the large front windows. At the end of the block was Giorgio’s, a popular Italian restaurant which the three shops gratefully supplied. The four men, dubbing themselves ‘the food chain’, considered it a good arrangement all round. “What about me?” George said when the restaurant opened twenty years ago. “I don’t supply food.”

      He remembered Vince jovially slapping him on the back “You provide the atmosphere, George old boy. Look at how many candles they’ll get through each week.”

      And they did. For twenty years, Giorgio’s was the busiest restaurant for miles with its fine food, red-check tablecloths, and of course a charming romantic atmosphere illuminated by the flickering light of George’s candles.

      That morning, at nine sharp, Mrs Pennington entered the first shop. “Good Morning, Mrs P,” Vincent offered, as she placed her basket on the glass cabinet covering the display of fresh meat. “I’ve got your order ready.” He leaned over the counter towards her. “I came in on Sunday, especially for my favourite customer.” He placed the small bag of beef trimmings and half a pound of sliced ham into her basket. “It’s going to be a beautiful day, today. Lovely sunshine. Just like you, eh?” he boomed.

      Mrs Pennington thanked him, smiled and left.

      She walked past his shop at the front, still glancing at the meat displayed in the window, and then she went through the next door.

      “Good Morning Mrs P,” Benny gushed. “I’ve got some nice hot rolls here. Just come out of the oven, they have. Just for you.” Benny turned and took a freshly-baked cottage loaf from the wooden shelves behind the counter. “Can I tempt you with a pastry today, Mrs P, or are you keeping an eye on that lovely figure of yours, eh?” he laughed.

      She took the loaf and placed into her basket. Then, declining the pastry and the rolls she thanked him, smiled, and left.

      Benny watched her gaze at the cakes displayed in the window as she passed by, walking out of his view to the ironmongers next door.

      George heard the bell above the door, jangle. “Good morning Mrs Pennington. How are you today?”

      “I’m very well, George. How are you?” She looked at him with a curious look on his face. “George, can you help me with something?” she leaned over the counter, the aroma of her perfume wafting his way. He felt his throat restrict, catching a glimpse of her cleavage as her blouse gaped open. “It’s Mr. Smith and Mr Baker,” she whispered. “They seem a little…..a little extreme,” she finished with a look, prompting him to read between the lines.

      “I…I’m not sure what you mean.”

      She straightened her back, standing upright now and somehow he missed her closeness. She waved her hand, looking awkward. “Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t mind me.” she said.

      George coughed and shifted his stance.

      She leaned forward again, her voice a gentle whisper. “George, I was wondering if you would mind having dinner with me one evening?” She reddened as George reddened. “It’s only because I won a raffle for a bottle of wine at Giorgio’s, and I can only have it if I eat there. You probably think I’m being a little forward, but the truth is I could do with a bit of company.”

      George coughed again, fiddling with a display of key-rings on the edge of the counter. “Well. I…I would be delighted to escort you. We can’t let them get away with that free bottle of wine now, can we?”

      “You’re very kind.”

      “It would be my pleasure.”

      “No, I assure you George,” she offered. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

      George coughed again as Mrs Pennington, thanked him, smiled and left. 
 

      The butcher, the baker and the ironmonger sat on their bar stools, side by side. It was early doors on Friday night; the after-work crowds not yet arrived.

      “I think I made a bit of progress with Mrs. P when she came in again today,” Vincent claimed. Two heads turned towards him, waiting for him to continue. He returned their gaze and winked. “I mentioned I had some nice bacon coming in tomorrow.” He winked again, a knowing smile on his lips.

      Benny rolled his eyes. “She only comes into mine on a Saturday. She doesn’t do meat on a Saturday. It’s bread only on a Saturday.”

      Vincent guffawed. “Keep your hair on, baker boy. Anyone would think you were jealous.” 

      “Jealous!” Benny exclaimed, deliberately calming himself. “You’ve got no chance, son. I’m telling you. Once Mrs. P sees my pasties tomorrow, you won’t get a look-in.”

      Vincent strained his neck to view George on the end stool. “Very quiet in the cheap seats,” he muttered.

      George swigged his pint and banged it empty on the bar. He stood up, tucking the stool in and stabbing his arms into his thin beige jacket.

      “Hey, where’ you going?”

      “Got a date.”

      “Yeh right!” Vincent laughed. “Who with? The cat!”

      “Mrs. Pennington, actually.”

      The two swung around on their stools towards him. “Now, I know he’s gone senile. Come on George, what’re you up to?”

      “I told you. Mrs Pennington asked me to go out to dinner with her. We’re going to Giorgio’s.” George, distracted, fished his keys out of his pocket, “Right then, I’m off. See you in the morning. Bright and early now boys!” he called behind him, and then he left.

      “Well, blow me down with one of his feather dusters,” Vincent exclaimed, still reeling from the shock.

      “I don’t believe it!” the other responded. “He’s making it up.”

      “Well, Benny boy, there’s only one way to find out.”

      Later, that night Mrs Pennington sat at a discreet table in the window and sitting opposite her, George was pouring two more glasses of wine while the candle flickered in the middle. “It’s a very nice wine.”

      “Delicious,” George responded with a smile and a glint in his eyes. “You did well, there. I never win anything.”

      “I’m sure that’s not true.”

      Before he had time to answer, a draught blew the flame of the candle as the door opened. Vincent and Benny strolled in, both a little inebriated and both of them claiming, loudly, how very hungry they were. “Starving, Giorgio!” Vincent called. “One of my best juicy steaks for me, I believe.”

      “Me too,” Benny offered, equally as loud.

      Vince turned towards the table in the window. “Well, well. Who do we have here, then?” he announced, as Mrs. Pennington and George sat up straight from their most intimate gaze.

      “Mind if we join you?” Vincent intruded, nodding towards Giorgio to set two more places.

      Giorgio paced back behind the counter, scribbling the order on his pad as he walked. He was confused. He’d telephoned Mrs Pennington a week ago to tell her she’d won the raffle. Truth was, he’d ensured she’d win, and threw in the pretence of eating there as an additional ruse. He figured if he got her in, they could get to know each other a little better. It was a bit of a conspiracy on his part, but he figured once he came clean, she’d see the funny side.

      Now, it seemed he was being left out of ‘the food chain’, as the four of them had dubbed themselves. Well, he thought, as he pulled a cork expertly from the bottle in his hand, if that three think they can leave me out of the loop, they’ve got another thing coming.

      After the meal was over and the boisterous joviality from the table in the window was witnessed by all, Giorgio clicked his finger towards one of his waiters. “A bottle of champagne and five glasses,” he called, as Vincent, Benny and George turned their gaze towards him. Giorgio placed himself at the end of their table. “Mind if I join you,” he asked, smiling towards the only lady.

      “Champagne?” roared Vincent, “Sit yourself down, Giorgio my boy. Plenty of room for a little one.” 

      “Hope you don’t mind Mrs. Pennington?” Giorgio asked with his most charming accent.

      “Not at all. In fact……,” Mrs Pennington paused “I’ve been meaning to discuss something with you all.” She accepted the first glass of bubbling champagne from Giorgio’s hand and sat it on the table in front of her. Vincent and Benny had turned towards her waiting for her to continue, each holding out their other hand to accept the glasses offered. George sat opposite her, a look of adoration in his eyes, declining another drink, seeing as he would be the one escorting Mrs Pennington home that night. And Giorgio, with a smug look on his face, lifting the final glass, waiting for her to conclude.

      Mrs Pennington sat back against her chair, straightening her back. She looked confident, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight now burning low on the table. “When my husband died, I found out he owned the premises across the road from here. She turned towards the window and pointed, “The big place, which used to be a garage.” She laughed, her most dazzling laugh, and raised her glass as the four men followed suit. With their glasses suspended in mid-air, she said. “I know you will all support me, as you’ve supported each other…..I’ve had a proposal to sell the site to a chain of convenience stores and this morning I signed over the lease.”

      The butcher, the baker, the ironmonger and the restaurateur remained silent, each thinking their own thoughts, each with a glass raised, the champagne bubbling within, and each with a fading smile on their stunned faces.

      “Naturally, they’ll be supplying only basic meat and bread and I understand they’ll stock candles and such like….” She shrugged, “But I’m sure their prepared sandwiches and hot snacks won’t make any difference to the diners who feast on your marvellous cuisine, Giorgio,” she continued.

        “So please, let us raise our glasses, not just for the generous fees they’ve just paid me, but for them, a new business in the making and no doubt a truly fine addition to the food chain.” 
 

Wendy Reakes

‘I am 49, married with two children. I lost my leg in an accident ten years ago and began writing to relieve the boredom of giving up my career. I wrote a novel which I cannot get published, but I have recently won four short story competitions. Three of them in three consecutive months with WritersBillboard.net. Now my passion for writing short stories is so great, I am truly an addict.’

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