Born Bad. Josephine Cox

wouldn’t know how to be a real man. He’s a coward through and through – ain’t that right, Jimmy Boy?’ A man in his prime, Phil Saunders considered himself to be a cut above the rest. ‘You won’t catch me pandering to no bloody female! Never in a million years. Anyway, what’s so different about your woman that you treat her so special, eh?’

      ‘She’s my wife … the mother of my children, and if that isn’t enough, I happen to love and respect her.’ Like every man jack there, Jimmy was well aware of the way Saunders treated his wife, Judy. ‘You might want to think about that,’ he added.

      ‘I think you’d best explain yourself!’ Saunders said dangerously.

      ‘I don’t have to explain anything. You asked me why I treat my wife so special and I’m telling you.’ Leaning forward, Jimmy lowered his voice. ‘I don’t treat my wife like a piece of rubbish. Nor do I take my temper out on her.’

      With an animal-like growl, Saunders got him by the throat. ‘You bastard! What the hell are you insinuating, eh?’ He locked his fingers tighter, until Jimmy’s face felt like it was boiling. ‘Are you saying I don’t love my Judy … or that I don’t respect her? Is that what you’re saying?’ He squeezed his hands tighter. ‘I’ve a good mind to finish you here and now!’

      Jimmy truly thought he would never see another day. He couldn’t breathe. His eyeballs felt as though they would pop right out of his head, and his tongue was clamped so hard between his teeth, he could feel the pain right through to his chest.

      When in that moment, the other two men leaped forward and tore Saunders away, Jimmy fell to the ground, coughing and spluttering; thankful that he might live to tell the tale.

      ‘I thought you said you were off to the pub,’ intent on cooling the situation, McArthy asked of Saunders. ‘So, are you coming, or do I go without you?’

      ‘I said so, didn’t I?’ Glancing at Jimmy who was now up on his feet and smoothing down his hair, Saunders’ smile was pure evil. ‘It’s good to see there’s at least one man in the place besides me who knows how to spend his own hard-earned money.’

      Jimmy did not rise to the bait a second time, although he managed to croak, ‘You’re a lucky man, Saunders, if you can afford to chuck your money about. As for me, I’ve got better things to do with mine. I’ve a family waiting for me, with a clutch of kids that need my every penny.’ He addressed the other two men. ‘See you.’

      Saunders’ goading voice followed him. ‘Get going then, you pansy – unless you want me to help you through the door!’

      ‘See you tomorrow.’ The others had no axe to grind with Jimmy. If they had to choose out of him and Saunders, Jimmy was the better man.

      ‘What about you then, Bill?’ Saunders addressed the man next to him. Tall and willowy, Anderson was a reliable workmate who grafted tirelessly, though he kept his distance and never got caught up in heated arguments. ‘Gonna join us for a drink, are you?’

      ‘Nope.’ A man of few words, his conversations were short and to the point.

      ‘Why’s that?’ Saunders was still heated from his set-to with Jimmy.

      ‘Got my own reasons, and before you ask, I don’t discuss my business with anybody.’

      Saunders gave a cynical laugh. ‘You’re a miserable bugger!’ But he said no more. He suspected Bill Anderson of having hidden depths; and that if he and the other man ever did have an affray, it might not be Anderson who came off worse. So, with that in mind, Saunders stayed true to form, by picking only on those weaker than himself.

      Aware that Bill was growing impatient with Saunders, Arnie Reynolds moved towards the door. ‘Cheerio then, Bill, see you tomorrow.’ Turning to the others he called out, ‘Stuart! Phil! Are you two coming or what?’

      With the three men gone, Bill Anderson walked over to the far end of the warehouse, where he found the worried foreman taking stock.

      With a good three years to retirement, Joe Peters did not carry his age well. Having now shrivelled in size, he was permanently bent over. His spectacles were too large for his tiny face, and where he constantly screwed up his nose to keep them in place, the deep troughs of wrinkles had etched a pattern alongside his sunken cheekbones.

      ‘You’re like Will -o’-the-Wisp,’ Bill said, relieved to have found him. ‘One minute you’re there, the next you’re nowhere to be seen.’ Bill had always liked and respected Joe Peters, thinking him a fair-minded and honest sort.

      ‘I needed to check these rolls of canvas.’ Joe made a quick entry into his ledger. ‘We’re two rolls short. Whoever checked the delivery obviously didn’t do his job properly.’

      ‘Well, it weren’t me,’ Bill informed him abruptly.

      ‘Have the men gone?’

      ‘Yes … just now.’

      ‘Right, well, I’ll have to deal with it in the morning.’

      ‘Maybe the lorry driver had the two rolls away, thinking no one would notice,’ Bill suggested light-heartedly.

      ‘Maybe he did, and who could blame him, when the load isn’t properly checked as it comes off? This isn’t the first time, and if it’s not put a stop to, it won’t be the last, then we’ll all lose our jobs!’

      Bill suddenly realised the implications. ‘What? Are you saying it’s one of us?’

      ‘I’m not sure, but you can rest easy, because you and Arnie are two men I would trust implicitly.’

      ‘So, you’re saying it’s either McArthy or Saunders who’s the thief?’

      ‘No! I am not saying that.’

      Bill was persistent. ‘There is no way one man on his own could shift even one roll of that canvas.’

      Looking thoughtful, the little man nodded. ‘I already thought of that. It would certainly be a difficult thing to do without anyone knowing or seeing.’ He fell into deep thought. ‘But if there was an arrangement of sorts …’

      ‘What kind of arrangement?’

      The little man shook his head. ‘Like you said, it might be the lorry driver’s fault, after all. Or it could be that there was a mistake at the other end, and the rolls were never put on the lorry in the first place. The trouble is, there have been these other things of late …’ He lapsed into silence.

      ‘What things?’ Bill was curious.

      ‘Never you mind.’ Briskly now, the little man bade him good night.

      Before he left, Bill asked the foreman, ‘Did you hear that skirmish between Phil and Jimmy?’

      The little man grunted. ‘Saunders is a troublemaker. If he wasn’t a good worker, he’d be out that door so fast you wouldn’t see his heels for dust.’ He wagged a bony finger. ‘I’ll tell you this. He’s sailing very close to the wind. One more set-to like that and it’ll be his last under this roof.’

      Bill nodded knowingly. He had no doubt but that the foreman was keeping a wary eye on Phil Saunders, and with every right.

      ‘Do you need any help finishing off here?’ Bill enquired.

      ‘What? You think I’m too old and frail to do my job, is that it?’ The fear of losing his work was a constant nightmare for old Joe.

      ‘Good God, man! I was only offering a helping hand so’s you could finish up and get away home.’ Bill was taken aback by Joe’s sharp response. ‘I’d do the same for any one of us.’

      ‘I know, and I didn’t mean to snap at you like that,’ Joe apologised. ‘It’s just that, well, three weeks ago I had to inform the manager about those boxes of spare machine parts that went missing, so he’s already on the alert. I did manage to sort that one out; it was