men jumped in shock. ‘Sorry, sir,’ the shopkeeper said, letting go of another bundle and rushing around the counter to serve Joe. The small man’s cold blue eyes stared.
‘Joe?’ he said. ‘Joe Abbott?’
Joe didn’t reply. He put the paper down in front of the frowning shopkeeper.
‘Joe, it is you. It is.’ The other man moved to shake Joe’s hand. He was a head shorter than Joe, with, short brown, bushy hair. His cheeks were gaunt, and his jaw pronounced. There was evidence of a moustache and beard that was only just showing through on his pale skin and gave him an unshaven appearance. Recognition dawned.
‘Oh my,’ Joe said. The words came out in a hurry. He stared at the other man’s outstretched hand and wondered if it was now too late to shake it.
‘You know this idiot?’ the shopkeeper joined in, putting his hand out to be paid.
Joe handed over a ha’penny without looking at the man or answering his question. The shopkeeper cashed up. ‘So, do you?’ he said again, before returning to his work when Joe gave a shallow nod.
‘Little Jimmy.’ Joe paused for a second, thinking. ‘Little Jimmy Sutcliffe, isn’t it? I remember you.’
The blue eyes brightened as Joe recognised him. ‘Yes, though less of the little now. No one calls me Little Jimmy any more. James will do.’ He smiled. It seemed forced, the corners of his mouth were still downturned. ‘You do remember how we were always at the front of the class back at school, and you pretended never to understand me?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry.’ Joe wasn’t sure he had been pretending, but didn’t want to say so.
‘You do remember, don’t you? Old Fenning, used to put us next to each other in his classroom. His two brightest students he used to say, remember?’
‘Yes.’ Joe remembered, but rather differently. He had been one of Fenning’s brightest students, but Little Jimmy Sutcliffe was not. His old teacher was always recommending further reading and philosophy to Joe. He had grown particularly fond of the old man. As a boy Jimmy always seemed entitled, from a rich family on the hill that looked down on them all. He expected to be one of Fenning’s brightest and best, but really, he wasn’t.
‘I remember it, Jimmy… James.’ He caught himself. ‘We had some good years at that school. Before I had to leave.’
‘I never really did understand why you had to leave.’
Joe nodded. He hadn’t had time to tell anyone why he was leaving or where he was going to. He had only been there by the kindness of his Uncle Stephen who, because he had no children of his own, had decided to pay for Joe’s education. That was until his younger siblings had needed schooling. His uncle simply couldn’t pay for them all and so Joe had had to leave. After all, he had learnt all he needed to know, hadn’t he? The local school would be fine for the rest of his education. ‘We couldn’t afford it, James.’
‘Oh, that is rum.’ He pushed his lips out and dropped his head. Joe wasn’t sure if Jimmy was genuinely upset, or just humouring him.
‘Don’t frown, James,’ Joe said, mimicking old Fenning. ‘I did all right.’
Jimmy smiled again. Joe missed old Fenning. The man was a bright spark in a dark, cruel world and had always given Joe so much to think about. The master at his next school had been unkind and unfair. Joe had withdrawn and found solace in books. He would have rather been at home, reading. Perhaps Jimmy had become Fenning’s best student after Joe had left.
Jimmy shuffled, as the shopkeeper gave an occasional huff, making it clear that he wanted them gone. ‘What brings you here in particular, Joe?’ Jimmy asked. ‘Oh,’ he continued before Joe answered. He pointed to the newspaper that Joe was holding. ‘I found a few old issues of that in Fenning’s room once.’
‘This?’ He held up the paper. ‘Fenning encouraged me to read it when I was at school, to learn about all walks of life he used to say. It’s also interesting research for my newspaper work. I had no idea Fenning read it at the school.’ Reading the newspaper would have been quite dangerous at such a school. He had only ever mentioned it in hushed tones.
‘Oh yes, we found all sorts of things after you left. Best not to dishonour his memory with that sort of discussion though, may he rest in peace.’ Jimmy sighed.
He didn’t hear what Jimmy said next. He had never found out what had happened to Fenning after Joe had left the school. It had seemed like a different life. He wiped his eye with a handkerchief, passing it off as if he were wiping his nose. He didn’t want to think of the old, kind teacher passing away. He wondered how it had happened, but he didn’t dare ask.
‘We could discuss our old school days and old Fenning sometime while having a drink,’ Jimmy said, beaming at him.
Joe hesitated. ‘I don’t know, Jimmy. Sorry… James.’
Jimmy’s eyes dropped to the floor. ‘It would be fine to catch up. If you are busy, we could arrange a better time.’
‘You’re right. Why don’t you give me your address, and when I’ve time, I’ll be in touch.’
‘Excellent. Just one second.’ He patted his pockets. ‘Here, do you have a pencil and some paper I could borrow?’ The shopkeeper scowled as handed him a small notepad and a worn pencil. A few seconds later, Jimmy handed Joe a piece of paper. An address in Woolton. Joe could only imagine the large houses with their own estates, a good distance from their nearest neighbours.
‘You know the area?’ Jimmy asked.
Joe nodded.
‘Good! Do pop by whenever you get a moment, won’t you?’
‘I’ll try,’ Joe said, cramming the piece of paper into his coat pocket.
‘Whenever you get a spare second, we would love to see you up at the house. Just knock on the door and the man will let you in. That is whenever – the newspaper, was it? – whenever they let you free for socialising.’
Joe nodded again. He wasn’t really listening. Jimmy brought back painful memories of a life he didn’t really care for. Although he wanted to make more of himself, he didn’t agree with how families like the Sutcliffes lived.
‘What newspaper was it that you said you worked for?’
Joe mentally cursed for having mentioned it. ‘Did I say newspaper?’ It was a poor dodge and he knew.
‘Yes, I’m sure you did.’ Jimmy’s smile didn’t falter.
‘That’s right. Well, I er—’
At that moment, the welcome-bell jingled as the door opened and an older man, dressed in a tweed jacket, came into the shop. ‘Good morning, Doctor,’ the shopkeeper said. Joe thought he had been saved by the distraction, but Jimmy was still waiting.
‘I’m a sub-editor for the Daily Post, James,’ he finally conceded. Jimmy moved a fraction closer. ‘It’s not much, but it can be interesting, and it gives me a chance to write from time to time.’
‘Fascinating,’
