Free Slither by John Halkin

patches of dog-shit and decaying rubbish in the lane between the houses. He brushed them away from his face. Even the stream seemed subdued.
    As he turned into the cobbled street he glimpsed the sea beyond the harbour, dazzling like pure silver.
    At the post office he found the telephone occupied by a large, buxom woman who gave the impression she’d settled down for a good long chat. Well, Jimmy could wait. He turned back up the road towards the craft shop.
    The string of open sandals was already hanging outside the door and the girl was rearranging the display in the window. She’d a slight sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, he noticed. Quick eyes with long lashes. Full red lips, without lipstick. Today she was in a plain green dress of some rough folk-weave material, drawn in at the waist by a cord.
    A bell tinkled as Matt pushed open the door. She looked round and smiled at him.
    ‘These things are always untidy!’ she laughed, pushing a wisp of hair back. She wore little cockleshell earrings, but herhands looked practical. ‘Customers never put them back properly. Never buy any, either.’
    ‘What do they buy?’
    ‘Oh, sandals mostly. And sun hats.’ She paused, then added disconcertingly. ‘And what can I sell you? A belt? A key-case? Wallet? Look around. Take your time.’
    ‘I really need some advice.’
    A quick expression of disappointment. ‘Oh, if it’s accommodation you need, I’m afraid—’
    ‘It’s this,’ he interrupted her. He pulled off the newspaper wrapping and unrolled one of the worm skins across the counter. Its colours sparkled with life.
    ‘Oh! Oh, it’s absolutely gorgeous!’ she exclaimed enthusiastically. ‘But what is it? I’ve never seen anything like it before!’
    ‘D’you think there might be a sale for this sort of skin? I mean, I imagine you do most of this leather-work yourself?’
    ‘Mm,’ she nodded. ‘But I wonder how easy this would be to work? It’s some kind of snake, is it?’
    ‘In a way.’ He unrolled the second skin. ‘Unusual, aren’t they?’
    ‘Very.’ She picked one up, fingered it, examined it from both sides, then took it to the door to see it in direct sunlight. ‘Not well prepared, are they? Somebody who didn’t know what he was doing.’
    ‘Me,’ he admitted with a grin. ‘But I’ve three more I haven’t skinned yet. Do them yourself if you’re interested.’
    ‘How much?’
    ‘What d’you suggest?’
    ‘I’d be taking a risk.’
    ‘I’ve taken a few already, getting them. They’re sewer worms. Heard of them?’
    She had. For the first time she seemed to notice his two missing fingers; then she glanced up at his face and suddenly flushed with embarrassment. ‘You’re that cameraman, aren’t you? It was in the local paper – and how you’d bought the old fisherman’s cottage up the hill. I’m sorry, I should’ve recognized you.’ Her face reddened again, as though she’d said the wrong thing.
    ‘What about the skins?’
    ‘I’ll be frank. It depends how they turn out. I’ll not know till I’ve tried.’ She hesitated. Then, in a rush, she admitted it’d been a bad summer so far, she couldn’t risk laying out money on them, but if he’d accept a percentage – ‘Twenty-five?’
    ‘Maybe I’ll shop around a bit.’ He began rolling them up again.
    ‘There’s nowhere else in Westport.’
    ‘London?’
    ‘Make me an offer,’ she invited.
    ‘Fifty-fifty and no haggling. I get the skins, as many as you need, and you do the rest.’ He remembered the worms’ hard little eyes staring intelligently at him in the sewer; there was something satisfying about the thought of fishing them out one by one to be made into decorative belts or women’s evening purses. ‘Only I’d expect you to peddle them around Harrods and Liberty’s, not only down here.’
    For a moment she regarded him pensively; then suddenly she grinned with a flash of white teeth, welcoming the challenge. The tip of her