“Back again to drive me up the wall, are you? Look at him, posh as a lord! Thinks he can just waltz in and ask for fifty grams, does he?” bellowed the shopkeeper.
The boy lifted up a ginger kitten, bright as sunshine. Oddly, the little thing didnt flinch at the fearsome face glaring down at it. Instead, it wriggled free, leapt onto the counter, dashed across, and nuzzled into Auntie Claras grubby white apron, rubbing its tiny ginger head against her.
Auntie Clara was well, you know the typebuilt like a brick wall, face like carved stone. Nobody dared look her in the eye. Not once. Because that face only ever showed one thing: pure menace, scorn, and simmering rage. Like she might tilt her head back any second and yell at the heavens, “Lord above, why must I serve this lot?”
Clara was a shopkeeper through and throughby trade and by nature. She served customers with both fists planted where her waist shouldve been, drilling holes into anyone daft enough to meet her gaze. Even the burliest blokes shrank back, muttering their orders in timid little voices. Shed do them the *favour* of slicing their measly bit of ham.
But the ones who dared push their luck? Oh, that was a sight.
Auntie Clara would lift those brick-like fists off her hips and slam them onto the counter. Her face turned beetroot, eyes narrowing into gun barrels. Then came the roara proper lions growlsending the whole queue ducking like a fighter jet had just zoomed overhead. The offending man? Hed go pale as milk, stuttering apologies, ready to confess every sin hed ever committed. Not a soul in years had dared question the weight of their purchase.
And the boy? Oh, he wound her up the most.
Cheeky little lad, about ten. Had the nerve to turn up regularly, plonking his handful of change on the counter and piping up in that tiny voice, “Auntie Clara, please, could I have fifty grams of ham?”
Shed flush, pale, then grey all at once.
“Back again!” shed thunder, rattling the windows. “Fifty grams for his lordship!” Shed glare triumphantly at the queue. And the crowdusually quick to kick up a fusswould suddenly find the floor very interesting.
“Back to torment me, are you? Think youre some posh little toff, ordering fifty grams like its nothing?”
But the boy? Didnt bat an eye. Just lifted those big blue eyes and said, “Please, Auntie Clara. I really need it.”
Shed open her mouth, ready to unleash hellfire then pause. Something in those eyes made her stop. Quietly, shed slice the ham. The queue would exhale. And off hed go, clutching his little packet.
Today, though, Auntie Clara was in a *mood*. The queue stood frozen. Even the other shopkeepers avoided looking her way. She flung packets of ham at customers, snarling between ordersuntil, of course
*That* head popped up from behind the counter. Big blue eyes, staring right at her.
“Auntie Clara,” the boy whispered in the dead silence. “I dont have any money today. But I really need it. Could you cut me fifty grams? Ill pay you back later.”
The audacity. The *disrespect*.
Auntie Clara turned purple, then white, then let out a roar that shook the shop. The drunk bloke hiding a bottle of vodka in his trousers dropped it straight on the floorshattered glass everywhere. Nobody even blinked.
“Youyouyou! Little *lordling*!” she thundered, raising a fist.
Everyone squeezed their eyes shut. A few clutched their chests.
But the boy didnt flinch. Just looked at her, calm as ever.
“Hes really hungry,” he said. “Mum forgot to give me breakfast money.” Then he lifted the ginger kitten again.
The kitten, faced with Auntie Claras wrath didnt care. It squirmed free, leapt onto the counter, trotted over, and rubbed its head against her apron.
A collective groan of horror rose from the crowd. That fist was about to come down
Auntie Clara turned grey, then white, then red. A strangled noise escaped her. She lowered her fist, snatched the kitten, and held it up to her face. It mewed and booped her nose.
“So *this* is it?” she growled. “All this time, your mums breakfast moneyyouve been spending it on *him*? Fifty grams of ham every day?”
“Yeah,” the boy admitted. “But dont worry, Ill pay you back when Mum gives me the money.”
The sweet shop assistant choked back a sob, rushed over, and shoved a fiver into the boys hand.
“Dont you *dare*!” Auntie Clara roared, rattling the windows again. The drunk on the floor whimpered. “Give that back!” she hissed at the sweet shop woman, who scurried off.
Then she turned to the boy. “Come here.”
She sliced off a *huge* chunk of ham, bagged it, then added an entire ring of smoked sausage. “Thats for you *and* your mum.”
The queue stood gobsmacked. The sweet shop assistant fumbled her cash. The drunk stumbled to his feet, tucked his bottle back into his trousers, and shuffled out.
“And as for this cheeky little thing,” Auntie Clara muttered, nodding at the kitten, “youre leaving him with me. Need a mouser in the stockroom.”
“Hell be a proper hunter!”
The queue chuckled. Even the other shopkeepers smiled.
The ginger kitten purred, nuzzling into Auntie Clara. She scooped it up and vanished into the back. When she returned, she barked, “Next!”
Funny thingthe next customers *smiled* at her, despite her glare. They spoke softly, respectfully. And she?
Well, you wont believe me, but that stone face almost looked like it was smiling too.
Now, that shop has two cats. One ginger, one grey. The blue-eyed “lordling” brought in another stray. All the shopkeepers feed them, but the cats?
They always go straight to Auntie Clara, tripping her up while she works. And she?
Grumbles, curses, hurls insultsall while stroking two furry little backs.
And the queue?
The queue smiles.
Thats the tale of the “lordling,” the sunshine ginger, the ham, and the shopkeeper with fists of iron, a glare of steel and a heart of gold.
What do you reckon, eh? Drop your thoughts below!
