Death by turkey steak - Chapter eight

Wednesday June 9th

The benefit of the previous day’s reallocation was that not only did I have another chance to tempt Lee into a positive conversation, but I was re-united with Olwen and company. Jeanine re-engaged with her well intentioned, yet insanely annoying habit of conversation from a distance, which again meant ear plug removal and shouting.’ What were my hopes and dreams? Where did I go to school? Was Australia hot? What was the value of C if M equalled Q?’ The raw tissue and sinew steadily grew.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Tom?” I removed an ear plug. “Do you have a GIRLFRIEND!?”

“NO! DO YOU?”

“I’M NOT A LESBIAN!” she shrilled. “I’M MARRIED! EMILY IS SINGLE THOUGH!”

Colour flushed Emily’s complexion. Over the next hour Jeanine nudged Emily further down the line so that she ended up opposite me. This seemed the most unlikely place to match-make.

When their eyes went down to concentrate on a tray of meat, I gently edged down the line. No matter, Jeanine just nudged her friend further on. The game of cat and mouse continued until I stood opposite Vicky, who in turn successfully blocked off any further movement by Emily. Vicky winked at me and I mouthed, “Help me!” She shook her head slowly and smiled.

Blossom

Vicky was a rare commodity in the T.F.L. jungle. Not only was she the sole black worker in the entire factory, but she was beautiful. She was possibly the only woman who could wear a green plastic apron covered in turkey by-product and look totally smoldering. She had clear shining eyes and pillowed lips and was a welcome sight to gaze upon other than a blank white wall. Her long blackcurrant hair was braided and streaked with multi-colours. Her lashes were long and her cheek bones prominent. Such were the robust frames of the majority of the women in the factory that the cords to their aprons were tied behind their back. Not Vicky’s. Her waist line was so minuscule that the cords went once around and were tied on her stomach. This in turn accentuated her boobs. Her coat was not done up to the chin, but open two metal poppers from the collar, hence exposing her collar bone and the v of her vest. When we ran out of trays she turned around, took a few paces forward and bent over to take some from a new package. Her buttocks were as tight and rounded as two turkey breasts in a vacuum packed bag. The netting machine then started up and I pressed my waist firmly against the metal sides of the rampant belt.

My gaze became so fixed on her that she routinely caught me spying, I’d abruptly look away, but when I looked back she was smiling.

Break arrived quicker than it ever had before, but I didn’t show the eagerness to leave the floor as I had done in the previous weeks, I remained pressed to the conveyor belt for a full minute as everyone else exited. When the blood relented, I calmly walked towards the door. Eyeing me from the doorway of her office was Butch Sue, as incognito as a Hereford bull in a handbag.

Breakfast

Capital Punishment

I drifted among the tables with an exemplary Full English. Vicky was sitting with her back to me and a spare seat at her side, but such was the animation from Timmy to join him at his table, I begrudgingly accepted.

“Hey Delilah! You snuck off without sayin’ goodbye.”

“I didn’t know that was protocol.”

“Gobby twat.” He sneered and shot his grubby fingers across to pilfer a hash brown from my plate.

He ate it with an open mouth whilst glaring at the queuing diners, then blurted, “’ave you met The Professor yet?”

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Prof!” he yelled to a bespectacled man standing in the queue. The man acknowledged Timmy and made a gesture to confirm that he’d join us.

“You are goin’ to fuckin’ love The Prof!” Timmy said, jostling like a ferret in a sack.

The Professor weaved among the tables and plonked himself down.

“It’s not unusual!” The Professor exclaimed, “Tom Jones. Priceless.”

“Innit though, Prof?” Timmy barked. “Delilah, this is Jamie, we call him The Professor.” Jamie was totally at home with himself. A long black ponytail trailing down his back was restrained with elastic bands. Although unseen, I guessed his legs were akimbo under the table. He wore a satisfied grin that suggested he was the self styled intellectual in the group. Timmy stared at me and nodded. He looked at Professor Jamie, then back to me and nodded again. To Jamie. To me. Nod. He repeated the actions until I asked the question he was desperate to hear.

“Why do you call him The Professor?” Timmy shifted about in his seat as if he meant to quell some worms wriggling in his colon. Jamie sunk lower into his and cracked open a Vimto.

“Give me a capital,” he asked. I looked beyond them and out to the horizon where my oak tree stood. Brilliant sunshine created a halo around its top.

“Come on Delilah,” Timmy urged.

“He’s nervous,” The Professor added.

“’e should be, Prof, you ‘aven’t been stumped yet."

“A capital?” I confirmed.

“Anyone you like.”

“Lisbon.” 
Timmy shot a worried glance to Jamie and then looked at me as if I had urinated on the table. Jamie wore a look of utter disgust.

“Capital letter, you dick’ead,” he bit with distain.

“Right. You want me to say a letter?”

“CAPITAL letter,” they said in tandem.

“J.” The Professor snapped his head to the side, thought awhile and draped his ponytail over his shoulder.

“January,” he said with an eddy of his head.

“You got ‘im Prof, you got ‘im!”

“What?”

“No matter where it comes in a sentence, beginning, end or middle, January always starts with a capital,” The Professor revealed and wound a finger round his ponytail. I’d found the brains trust, laid out in all its glory. No need to go to University then.

“Another, another!” Timmy goaded.

“M.” 
Open mouthed and in love, Timmy looked to The Professor. Jamie stared at the ceiling to buy some time.

“Madame. No matter where she comes, she always starts with a capital M,” Jamie lectured. Timmy could not have experienced more pleasure if he had sat on a pencil.

“No one ‘as got ‘im yet!” he roared and high fived The Professor. 
“Keep ‘em coming Delilah!” Legions of workers had passed through this canteen and none had had the level of perceived intelligence of this man.

“S.”

“I knows what you’re thinkin’!” Timmy exclaimed, but looked crestfallen when Jamie dredged up,

“Satan.”

“I’m glad you brought him up,” I said, thinking that he must be employed somewhere in the factory. I worked as steadily through my breakfast as The Professor did through the alphabet.

Timmy looked to the clock. “Shit, we better get back to work. One more Delilah! One more!”

Jamie was the kind of species that would argue his point until the other party was too exhausted to care and hence claim victory. He was the last man at a party, the argumentative knob at the end of the bar and when he spoke I wanted to climb into his mouth, close his lips and make sure no one ever heard him utter another word again.

“X.”

The Prof. looked startled. Timmy sensed his unease and searched his lap for an answer. Streams of workers flowed passed us, called to arms by the minute hand that said they should be re-employed. The Professor was lost. Someone had mentioned a letter of the alphabet which had not been previously flagged. He fidgeted and stalled until the entire canteen was empty, but for us three hapless souls. He then struck gold. Relief was etched across his smart arse. He composed himself, lent forward and triumphantly said, “Your – Excellency.”

Thursday June 10^th

33,600 minutes left.

Something wasn’t right. Death by turkey steak had not troubled my sleep and I arrived early for work. The familiar sickness in my stomach had been replaced by butterflies.

William was slumped on a bench in the changing room slowly screwing the top off a litre bottle of very thin orange juice. His eyes hung in their sockets. He coughed heavily into the tail of his coat before sinking the entire bottle of liquid in a gagging, lurching manner with sluices of the liquid escaping his mouth and staining his shirt.

“No better a way to start the day,” he drearily added without engaging with anyone.

Olwen and co. were already standing to attention at the turkey steak line. Vicky stood towards the end of the line with a vacant space opposite. It seemed as good as any place to stand.

“Morning.” she said.

“Oh, hello. Didn’t see you there. Morning. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.”

Lee appeared with a trolley of steaks and the day commenced. Vicky wore a blue shirt under her work clothes, undone to the third button. A green stone hung around her neck. Lee emptied a crate of steaks as another male worker walked passed and said something. Lee looked down at his boots and let the crate fall to his side. Olwen’s face was a storm of constant thunder, but when I caught her eye a ray of sunshine shone through. When she looked down to pack, the clouds rolled back in. It wasn't easy to see her as a fairy Godmother. Jeanine was chatting merrily at an orange hatted worker opposite and as the morning fleeted past the orange hat lent further and further across the belt.

Vicky wore purple eye liner that accentuated the brightness of her eyes. She caught me peeking again.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“I...... was just looking at your stone. It’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. 
Butch Sue appeared behind Vicky and glared at me momentarily before exiting through the plastic strips. “My husband gave it to me.”

“Oh. Oh!”

A male manager buzzed around the gorging machine at the end of the steak line with an assortment of tools clipped to his side. A few coloured lights flashed on the machine and the manger pressed a button. He stood back, hands on hips, sleeves rolled to the elbows and nodded. Stefan was leaning off his forklift trolley. They caught each other’s eye and nodded together.

“Ex,” Vicky added and The Professor popped into my head before I realised she was talking past tense.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, dear.”

“Hey, it’s fine, it was a while ago.” 
Emily was looking down the line at us. We packed on in silence. 
“I wear it because it is pretty.”

We chatted on in broken staccato sentences as the din of the machines grew louder and, due to her refusal of ear plug removal, most of what I asked went uncaught and drifted to collect on the ceiling with so many other redundant words. When I asked her where she came from, she replied, “Madonna” as ‘Beautiful Stranger’ played out. I repeated, she understood, leaned across and touched my arm then laughed softly, acknowledging her mistake. She told me of a failed marriage and fresh beginnings.

“In here?”

“For now, not forever.” She was a budding beautician and hoped to open her own salon in Hereford. She’d have plenty of customers if she opened one inside T.F.L. She said her husband had treated her badly after a heady episode of young love.

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to treat you badly.” It just slipped out. I mean, she was a very pleasant person. Very, nice. She blushed. Emily and Jeanine were watching, so too was Butch Sue.

Friday, June 11th

Early again. How is this possible? I’d driven at a snail’s pace.

Olwen was leaning on the conveyor belt waiting for Lee to arrive with the meat. Two male workers hung around the area where he would deposit the meat. One was sticking some sellotape to a polystyrene tray. Jeanine was standing opposite Vicky, with Emily to her side so that Vicky was hemmed in. No matter. I took up a position at the head of the line, away from the cluster of workers and near the depositing area. From here I could attempt to converse with Lee.

“Morning, love!” Olwen said with a wide smile. “You sleep well?”

“I did for once thanks. No meat in my dreams last night.”

“Don’t start! I’ve been counting chickens in my sleep for almost eighteen years,” she said and the clouds gathered. I wonder if she sleeps on her front to stop her wings from getting crushed? Jeanine, Emily and Vicky were giggling. Jeanine was acting out an elaborate mime and Emily looked towards me. I looked away, then back and Vicky caught my eye.

She mouthed ‘Morning’. The two male workers were now leaning on the machine, it was clear that they, like us, were waiting for Lee. The ‘Street Boys’ were back....

‘You are my fire. My one desire.......’ Emily was looking at me and swaying. The song serenaded the appearance of Lee.

“Hooray!” the workers cheered, though seemingly without irony. Lee paused when he saw the two workers in his path. They were saying something to him, but it didn’t seem like he could hear them over the machines. Then one jabbed him in his shoulder while the other leaned into him. Lee pushed between them with a crate and emptied the contents. While his back was presented the worker with the polystyrene tray stuck it onto him and they calmly walked away. Lee stood watching the steaks whizz up into the machine, then turned round to collect another crate. ‘Im a t-t-t-twat’ was scrawled across the tray. Butch Sue was watching from the doorway of her office. When the tray became unstuck and drifted to the floor, she snuck inside and closed the door. Lee picked it up and read it. He stared at it for a while before tearing it in two and placing it in a bin. He turned back for another crate, but didn’t pick it up. The line was once again a flurry of hands and trays and stunted chat. Lee was stock still with his head bowed. He raised a sleeve up to his face then picked up another crate. His eyes were red when he eventually turned round.

William turned up an hour and forty minutes after his shift had started. He had forgotten to put his wellington boots on and splashed around in the foot bath in his trainers. He neglected to wash his hands and marched purposefully over to the conveyor belt. He settled next to me; the reek of ‘orange juice’ was intense.

“How do?” he asked. His face was the colour of Lee’s eyes.

“Alright Wills? Working a later shift today?”

He looked quizzically at me. “No, no. Two until ten. As usual.”

The clock ticked onto twenty minutes to eight and Shania made her second appearance of the day. Just before breakfast William peeled away from the conveyor belt, walked the length of the room and disappeared through a doorway.

Breakfast

A few minutes after we had all returned Butch Sue approached and cherry picked half a dozen workers from the line. Olwen, Jeanine and Emily among them. It was the usual sign that a big order had been placed and it would be all hands to the plastic, elsewhere. Savage Ann and a crony appeared to plug the gaps and stood either side of me. I placed a tray on the belt and Savage Ann intercepted. She held it out in front of me to show her friend, who tutted and whinged, re-packed it exactly as before and placed it back on the line. Vicky was looking towards me. She nodded at the vacant space opposite and I ran the gauntlet.

“What is their problem?”

“It is a mystery to me.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

“My pleasure.”

Savage Ann and sidekick glared at us as we chatted through the morning. Most of what was said was inconsequential, but it was a relief not to have someone degrade my ability to lay six pieces of meat in a tray.

At one moment we both went for the same tray and her hand rested on top of mine.

“Please, after you, Mr. Jones,” she said and gently squeezed my hand.

“Why, thank you, Miss......”

She smiled and widen her eyes, “Jones. As well.”

“Ha! Vicky Jones, what a coincidence.” Vicky Jones. It had a nice ring to it.

During the afternoon, Savage Ann and sidekick were plucked from harm’s way and I edged closer towards the deposit area. There was no one between me and Lee-centred chat. After a few minutes, he stuck his head through the plastic strips, registered a clear path and barrelled through with his trolley. He tipped four crates until the meat banked up then stole a quick lean against the trolley.

“Hey Lee!” I yelled, but he didn’t respond. My shout was probably lost to the machine. I edged closer. “Oi, Lee!” but again he stared straight ahead. I edged as far as the belt would allow and yelled, “Lee!” waving a hand to attract him. He shot an exasperated look and barked, “d-d-d-d-d-d-d-don’t you f-f-f-f-f-fuckin’ s-s-s-start!” spun on his heels and slapped through the plastic strips. I looked towards Vicky, but she hadn’t seen. Someone else had, however.

“My office. Now.” Butch Sue said. She didn’t bother to close the door. “You are an evil little boy, aren’t you?”

“You what?”

“It is exactly your level is it?”

“What is?”

“Getting your kicks out of teasing someone.”

“You have to be joking. Right?” she remained unmoved. “You watched two blokes shove him around and post a label on his back and.....”

“DON’T TELL ME WHAT I SAW!” Wow, it wasn’t only her tattoo that had teeth. She stood as strong as a Gladiator gripping her clipboard. Her blubbery lips glistened with saliva. “Any more of that and you will be severely disciplined. DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

“Yes.”

“Get out.”