Lifting the Lid(19)

‘Oh yeah,’ said Shaved Head. ‘Don’t we need some sort of proof though?’

‘Dunno, mate. Never ‘ad one before.’

Shaved Head turned back to Trevor and clearly enunciated the words, ‘Do – you – have – a – certificate – or – summat?’

Trevor tilted his head forward as if straining to hear the steward’s words more clearly. ‘Sir… ?’

‘Cer – tif – i – cate.’

‘Get on with it for God’s sake,’ came a male voice from further back in the queue.

Shaved Head craned his neck to identify the voice’s owner, and to judge from the narrowing of his eyes, whoever it was would be getting a hard time of it when his turn came to have his ticket checked.

‘Oh just let him in, Phil,’ said the second steward as he fixed a blue plastic tag around the wrist of a middle-aged woman with long, greying hair. ‘We’ll be here all day otherwise.’

‘Quite right,’ said the woman. ‘This man clearly has a severe disability, and you’re treating him like some kind of criminal.’

‘And who asked you, Mrs Gandalf?’ Phil’s apparently tenuous grasp of the concept of customer relations seemed to be being tested to the limits.

‘Well really,’ said the woman. ‘I’ve a good mind to report you to your employers.’

‘Yeah? And how you gonna do that when I’ve banned you from the site? Now piss off on yer broomstick and let me get on with my job.’

The woman stood open-mouthed for a moment and then stormed off, shouting ‘Fascist pig’ over her shoulder.

‘Come on, baldy. Get yer finger out.’ It was a different male voice from the queue, and once again Phil appeared to make a mental note of his soon-to-be victim.

‘Oh for—’ he muttered and held out his hand. ‘Give us yer ticket then.’

Trevor stared blankly back at him.

‘Here.’ The steward snatched the ticket from him and attached one of the blue plastic bands to his wrist. ‘Next.’

Trevor turned to walk away but immediately turned back again. ‘Oh, excuse me.’

‘Now what?’

‘Can you tell me where the lockers are?’

The steward flung out an arm and pointed at a large marquee about a hundred yards away. ‘See the big yellow tent? T’other side of that is the food area. Through there, and the lockers are on the left.’

‘Thank you,’ said Trevor and instantly realised he’d forgotten the deaf act. Still, the steward didn’t seem to have clocked it, and he set off towards the marquee with Milly trotting contentedly at his heels.

‘Oi! You with the dog! Get back ‘ere!’

Trevor didn’t need to look round to know who was yelling at him, and he quickened his pace until he had merged into the thick of the crowd.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN



She was well aware that a hundred and twenty quid for a one day ticket was extortionate, but Sandra didn’t have time to shop around. Her only priority was to get into the festival and catch up with the bastard who’d nicked the envelope before he screwed up her job completely. What was the name the hotel manager had given her? Terry…? No, Trevor. Trevor Hawkins. That was it.

‘So how do I know it’s genuine?’ she asked the first tout she had come across outside the main entrance.

‘Trust me, lady,’ he said in a heavy Cockney accent.

‘And why should I do that exactly?’

‘Listen, love, everybody’ll tell yer I’m honest as the day is long.’

‘In Finland in December maybe.’

The tout bristled, his jaws visibly clenching and unclenching beneath the taut, suntanned skin. ‘Look, d’you want it or not?’

‘Hundred quid.’

‘Leave it out. I’ve already come down from one-thirty.’

Sandra grunted and took her purse from the pocket of her cream cotton jacket. ‘It better had be genuine for your sake. Because if it isn’t, I shall come and find you and cut off both your nuts with a pair of very rusty and very blunt garden shears.’

‘Oh yeah?’

She paused in the middle of counting out the banknotes and looked up to see the tout grinning at her. He was missing two of his front teeth, and those that remained were clearly in need of some serious dental attention. She fixed him with a penetrating and emotionless stare, and the tout’s grin subsided as he shuffled from one foot to the other.

‘Okay, lady, keep yer ‘air on. I’m only tryin’ to make a livin’.’

After a few more seconds of watching him squirm, she released him from her gaze and finished counting the money. ‘Here.’