Bill - Part 2

I'm not paying attention, my mind preoccupied, and I miss my stop. I get off the bus at St Lawrence Road and stroll back towards the M1. I find Bill standing at the corner of Newburn Drive. Smoking. Of course. I try to ignore the craving that rears its ugly head.

Bill doesn't acknowledge my presence at first. Instead he pinches his cigarette off halfway down and tosses the glowing cherry to the gutter.

"You're late," he says in a gruff voice without even looking at me.

"Yeah, sorry, the bus was late," I tell him.

He looks at me accusingly as he tucks what's left of his cigarette behind his ear. "Next time get an earlier bus," he tells me quite categorically. He adjusts the satchel slung over his shoulder, turns away and strides off. I trot after him.

I follow him down to the banks of the Don in silence - Bill is not much of a talker. Standing by the river, I watch as he fishes a cup from his bag and half shuffles, half slides down to the water's edge. He dips the cup in and comes back up to join me. He takes a large mouthful of the dirty water and swills it round like it's mouthwash before spitting it back at the river. I try my best not to make a face.

"Yep," Bill says as if I'd asked him a question and flings the rest of the cup away. I stick my hands in my pockets and wait patiently while he puts the cup back in his satchel. "Come on then," he says and heads off towards Meadowhall.

"Look, Bill," I say after another minute of walking in silence. "As much fun as it is for me to watch you drinking sewage, was there something you needed to see me about?"

"Yeah," he replies without looking at me. He fishes in his satchel and pulls out a small wooden box. He hands it to me. "I need you to look after this for me," he says.

"Okaaaay…" I say, turning it over in my hands. The wood is densely grained and varnished to a high sheen; there is a single small keyhole on the front but no key. "Do I need to know what's in this?"

He stops abruptly and looks at me appraisingly. He scratches at the week's worth of grey beard growth on his chin. He looks older. His wrinkles have deepened. His skin is tanned like weathered leather.

"No," he says and walks off.

"And that's all you needed to see me about?" I call after him.

"Yes," he calls back.

A moment later he is gone and I am left wondering how long it'll be until the next bus arrives.