Free A Pint of Beer, a Bag of Chips, and Thou by JL Merrow Page B

what was going on. It’s best not to
    be carrying anything likely to make a mess if dropped, not when
    my aunties are about to make a pronouncement.
    “We’ve decided,” Aunty Mags said. “You’re to have your

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    Christmas presents early.”
    You might think witches wouldn’t celebrate Christmas.
    You’d be dead wrong there—no witch worth her salt would ever
    pass up the opportunity to be given presents and get drunk on
    sherry at ten o’clock in the morning without censure.
    “Here you go, love.” Aunty Mags held out the purple thing
    to me. I took it carefully, just in case it really did have claws and
    teeth. “What is it?”
    “It’s a hat, you numpty.” She’s a col ector of words, is my
    Aunty Mags. And she’s generous with them, too. “Go on, put it on.”
    “Aunty Mags! I can’t wear that. It’ll flatten the mohawk.”
    “You’ll wear it and be grateful, my lad,” Mum said darkly.
    Sighing heavily, I pulled on the baggy purple monstrosity
    and went to look in the mirror above the fireplace. About the best
    you could say for it was that the colour looked good with my pale
    skin and brown eyes. It was in a coarse, scratchy wool I
    reckoned I’d heard Aunty Mags call mohair, and had a shaggy
    pom-pom on top. It hadn’t, actually, flattened the mohawk—just
    sort of settled around it. With the height and all, it looked like
    someone had put an old-fashioned cosy on a teapot and bunged
    it on my head.
    “There. That’ll keep you nice and warm when you’re out
    busking,” Aunty Mags said.
    I sent her a pleading look. “I can’t wear this out in public!
    People will think I’m drunk.”
    “Then you’ll be doing your bit for raising awareness of
    people with a drinking problem,” Aunty Des put in, with the smug
    piety of the professional heathen.
    “Aunty Des,” I explained patiently. “Everyone’s aware of
    alcoholics. But they don’t go round giving them money they
    might spend on drink.”
    “Then you’l just have to play twice as wel and convince them
    you’re sober, now won’t you? Be of with you now, love. Shoo!”

    * * * *
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    When I got outside and on my way to the evening rush-
    hour shift, there was a steady sleet falling, which made me feel
    better about the godawful hat. Sleet’s death to hairstyles, and
    there’s nothing sadder than a droopy mohawk. Especially when
    there’s someone you’d like to impress. I’d put my leather
    trousers on special, and doubled my body weight with all the
    studded gear I was wearing. I was going to take the hat off once
    I got inside the station, but then I thought, ah, sod it. It’d dry
    faster on my head than off.
    So I hopped on the Northern Line, filled my lungs with the
    heady aroma of burnt diesel, and rode down to King’s Cross,
    catching a few more smiles than usual from people who glanced
    up from their Kindles or their copies of the Evening Standard .
    Seems a six foot punk is a tad less intimidating when wearing a
    tea cosy on his head—who knew?
    I made my way to my pitch at the bottom of the long
    escalator, got out my saxophone and launched straight into
    Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” Commuters like that. Everyone likes
    to think they’re wild and free at heart, even if they work nine to five in an air-conditioned office with no natural light. Especially then.
    I don’t know if it was the Springsteen, the Christmas spirit
    or—God forbid—the hat, but I was soon raking in the cash. If it
    carried on this way, I’d be able to buy Mum the fake fur coat she
    had her eye on for Christmas. She’d been dropping more hints
    than I’d had hot dinners, quite a feat considering I lived with a trio
    of women who liked nothing better than to be huddled around a
    hot, steaming cooking pot. I let the smile in my head carry
    through to the music—it’s the only way I can thank people while
    I’m playing, after all.
    And then there he was, the man I’d been waiting for. Did I
    say his hair was iron grey? If I