“Mornin’ love,” sang Mrs. Babb as she tottered into the butcher’s shop. Her little red kitten heels clicked across the brick floor. A smile crept across Harold’s otherwise solemn face as his eyes drifted towards her veiny feet. He liked it when she wore these shoes. Red was his favourite colour. “The usual again for me darlin’, just how I like it,” purred Mrs. Babb through her heavily coated rouged lips.
Harold nodded and reached for the polyethylene bag he’d prepared earlier. He always saved the best for Mrs. Babb. This week she had a fresh, yet slightly swollen, liver. Three kidneys in pretty good nick and an extra special treat… a large fatty heart. The perfect size for his favourite customer. Harold untied the bag and felt his entire body relax as the sweet stench of the meat wafted up into his nostrils.
Mrs. Babb peered over the counter into the bag. “Oh ‘eck is that a heart?” Harold nodded. He never said much but he never needed to. “Thanks me handsome, Mr. Babb will ‘ave a lovely supper tonight”. She winked at Harold as she slipped the package into her leopard print handbag.
Mrs. Babb was his only lunchtime customer – unless there were any townies around. But today was a Wednesday. There were never any townies on a Wednesday. They only ever came through the village on weekends when they would thunder through the quiet lanes in their Austin-Healey’s. The next customer of the day would be Mr. Dickson who wouldn’t be here to collect his order till four o’clock meaning Harold could get on with his favourite part of the day. Preparing the cuts.
Harold ducked as he made his way through the doorway and into the back room. He’d always been a bigger child. “More to love” as his mother would say. After one particularly ferocious growth spurt at the age of eleven, he found himself much taller than the average doorframe. Unfortunately, his large size made him an easy target for the local bullies. They would take turns to see who could knock down the giant. Ten points if you made him bleed, twenty points if you made him cry.
***
The backroom was big. Much bigger than you’d expect from the tiny shop out front. The industrial freezers that lined the walls filled the heavy silence with a continuous hum. The whole room was so cold you could see your breath. “Too warm in here and you’ll spoil the stock” that’s what Frank used to say. Frank had bought the butchers twenty five years ago, when he moved down from the big city. He was a tough fellow with a thick accent and a deep scowl permanently etched on his weathered face – the type of scowl that had seen unspeakable things. There were several rumours regarding the nature of his business but the locals were soon quick to quash them. If you looked after Frank he looked after you – that’s just the way things worked in this village. Frank had left the shop to Harold in his will 8 months ago under the promise that he’d keep the business going. “The thing is big boy; you got to think of it as a public service. We pay a fair price for stock, we sell it on for a profit. Everyone wins. It’s a waste not want not situation”.
A fluorescent glow cut through the gloom as the blue strip light buzzed on. The air was thick with bleach, every surface spotlessly clean. The way Frank would like it. “In our line of work big boy, you’ve gotta keep things clean. Cleanliness is next to godliness”. Frank’s immortal words were never far from Harold’s mind. He draped the plastic apron over his thick neck and tied it carefully before pulling on some arm-length rubber gloves. He always thought about his father when he put on his gloves. “Them knuckles must be bleeding dragging them on that floor boy”. He never really understood what his father meant by that. Truthfully Harold didn’t really have any other memories of his father. He was only six when he died.
His mother had been off visiting her sister in the city and had left the two of them to spend some much-needed quality time together. Unfortunately, only moments after she left his father succumbed to a fatal heart attack. Young Harold had watched as his father’s eyes bulged almost right out of his sockets before his body slumped forward into his chair at the kitchen table. Young Harold finished his breakfast that morning in a blissful silence. He didn’t really like to chat, and now it seemed his father certainly wasn’t going to say much. Of course, when Harold’s mother returned home from the city several days later, she wasn’t best pleased. She hoped that Frank would still pay a fair price… even if the father had started to smell.
***
A smoggy cloud of condensation drifted into the room as Harold pulled open the walk-in fridge. In one strong movement he scooped up the naked figure slumped in the corner and slung it over his shoulder. The body landed on the stainless-steel table with a loud slap. “Don’t mess around with this part. Start at the feet and work your way up. Bish Bash Bosh.” Frank had taught him well. He took out his large butcher cleaver and in one smooth movement, the left foot came clean off. He raised his cleaver once again but froze mid-chop as a scream ripped through the silence.
In the doorway stood a small woman, her eyes wide with horror. She was elegantly dressed in a silk scarf and an expensive-looking coat. It was the type of coat that could only belong to a townie. Harold felt a lump of panic rise in his throat as he locked eyes with his unexpected customer. His mind started to whirl as her scream echoed around the back room. He didn’t lock the front door. Frank always said the one thing we do is lock the front door when we prepare the cuts. “Can’t let them see the goods. People wouldn’t like it. They’d shut us down big boy, especially them nosey townies”. Frank’s warning rattled through Harold’s mind. He didn’t have much time. He figured if he could just get her to stop screaming then perhaps he could explain the situation to her, make her understand. Harold lunged towards the townie and her knees gave way in fear. She collapsed on the bottom step of the backroom shaking like a little bird. A little bird who would still not stop shrieking. Harold put his hand over her mouth to try and silence her but the townie bit his finger hard. He cried out as he felt his skin burst open beneath his glove.
“You’re a monster… an evil freak!”the townie spat. “Get away from me you sicko!”. She kicked her leg and the heel of her shoe caught him, tearing right through the flesh of his eyebrow. Harold was knocked backwards on to the cold, hard floor where he lay as bright lights flashed across his vision and hot, thick blood oozed down his skull. The townie continued screeching as she scuttled up the steps of the backroom and across the shop. Through his blurred vision he could just about make out the figure by the front door as it closed shut. That was it. He had missed his chance to stop her. He wished more than anything that Frank was still here, he would know what to do.
The clap of the gunshot made him jump.
Harold sat up on the backroom floor; his head pounding and his breath bated. For a moment it was eerily quiet and then through the silence the sound of footsteps started to click across the brick floor. He knew that sound. It was the sound that was only made by one pair of shoes.
Mrs. Babb appeared in the doorway. The tip of her small brown Smith and Wesson still smoking as she slipped it back into her handbag. “Noisy bloody townie” she hissed. “Heard that thing screeching from outside”. She looked at the large gash on Harold’s head. “Oh me darlin, come ‘ere. I’ll get you patched up“. She took Harold’s hand and helped him to his feet. “My nephew is coming to stay this weekend, eats like a horse that one. So I’ll be needing some extra meat”.
Mrs. Babb and Harold headed back into the shop where she locked the front door and flicked down the blinds. She looked down at the lifeless body on the floor in front of her and a smile crept across her face. “Cor I reckon she’s just the right size for one of my famous Babb pies”.