Pegden Part 1

This particular Wednesday, in the summer of 2007, was quiet, the phone wasn’t ringing and I had time on my hands. I wasn’t bothered, who needs another customer when the sun is shining? The doorbell rang and in walks Pegden. “Aye up!” he says

“Pegden, my man. How’s it going?”

Pegden looks at me sideways head slightly bowed “Not good mate, not good.”

I’ve known Pegden for years, originally from Wakefield, but now in Peterborough. He’s tall and thin, but deceptively strong. He knows how to get out of a scrape. I can’t say he’s the most law abiding friend I’ve ever had, but he’s trustworthy and straight with those who are straight with him. He puts a hand up and musses his short brown hair, it makes no difference, his hair is always a mess. His clothes fit where they touch, hanging on him like they don’t want to be there. “To tell you the truth Mike, I’ve got myself into a bit of a situation.” He nervously rearranges a rucksack on his shoulder.

“Oh mate! What’s happened?” I’m concerned, but nothing about Pegden surprises me, I don’t recall him ever having a decent job, but he always had money for a pint down the pub. I never asked. It’s best not to know; you just chat bollocks over a beer, and don’t get involved. Pegden knows how to tell a story. You just suspend belief and listen to his wild tales of adventure, debauchery, drunken nights and scrapes. You know it’s mostly fantasy, but he does tell a good story, and you have to listen.

“I find I owe a few grand to some guy.” He looks down at his trainers, white with purple stripes, they were doing a little dance all by themselves. A shuffle.

“What guy?” I ask, breaking my own rule.

“Just some guy who wants his money back tomorrow or the situation could escalate into something I’d rather it didn’t.”

“Shit! I wish I could help you out but…” I tailed off, hoping he wasn’t going to ask for money I didn’t have.

“It’s OK I don’t want any money or owt. I’ve got a deal going down on The Welland. I was just passing. Thought I’d stick my head in the door, say ‘Hello’ like.”

“You wanna lift? My car’s just outside. I can take you to Welland.”

“Best not eh? You don’t want to be anywhere near me for this one. I’ll walk. Thanks anyway.”

He slings his rucksack over his shoulder and walks out. I watch him as he walks up Eastfield Road. In five minutes he’ll be at the Regional College, in ten, Eastfield cemetery. Welland, another ten or fifteen minutes. A warm gust of wind and pollen from the conifers across the road, blew like smoke. Pegden had already got past Jacqui’s house and still walking. I went back inside to shuffle a few papers on my desk and rearrange my pen jar. It was a quiet day.

TBC