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Mr Price - Part 2

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A fictional short story written by David Lloyd, all about a frequent member of a Welsh Bingo Hall.

Mr Price - A Short Story By David Lloyd - Part 2

Her historical musings were interrupted at the site of one of the regular customers, himself a walking piece of history, old Mr. Price. He approached, for his late session books, being one of the few customers who bought his books all in one go. She stood upright from her languid leaning, into the correct posture for serving the club members. That was what the manager had told her, but a quick scan of the hall revealed that none of the other staff members had listened.

As Mr. Price walked down the aisle he cut a lanky streak, tall and thin in his usual bingo suit, accompanied by his not often removed cap. As he came closer he flashed his nicotine smile, the crooked teeth straining from the gums. She had always found him strange looking. His face looked like a giant had picked him up by the temples and tried to squeeze his head like a spot. Both sides of his head were sharply indented, like his brain had sucked inwards and held its breath. He had an elongated birdlike nose, the rest of his face was taut, the skin sticking to his skull like a flesh condom. He lifted his hat in a polite greeting, revealing a balding, wispy, mole-hilled head, and spoke.

"Hello, Sian isn't it?" He leaned forward to regard the name plate on her breast.

She smiled in affirmation, and he placed the cap back on his head. He dug around in his weathered pocket, the change jangling discreetly.

"Three free ones please." He smiled some more, hoping the girl would fall under his charm.

"Sorry Mr. Price, no free ones, only fifty pee ones," she rhymed back in a happy manner, "will that do?"

"Bloody disgusting price. What's that then, um, three for a pound. There you go." He grinned and dropped a pound coin on the counter.

Sian had taken a mock annoyed tone in order to play along with his game, "come on you, that's enough of your messing around. You know very well that its one pound fifty for three, you have the same every night."

"That's right, I've 'ad the same for thirty years, but there's no 'arm in tryin'." He dropped the remaining fifty pence on to the counter from his other hand. "Ai, thirty years and I've never once got away with it. Tch! You can't teach an old dog new tricks."

Sian ripped him off three of the blue covered books from the strip, placed them on the counter and scooped the money into the cash tray below the counter. She was feeling bored so she decided to try and keep him talking. She smiled and asked after him, "how's Mr Price Tonight then?"

He frowned and fiddled with his cloth cap. "Not too good, this cold outside makes me head ache."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, are you alright?" She asked concerned, but happy that he was continuing to chat, even though it was about his problems.

"Its alright, I'm used to it. I've 'ad to put up with the blessed thing for years, ever since the accident."

Sian looked concerned, not knowing whether to back off or coax him on, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise, what happened? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Well, I'll tell you." He tapped his forehead. "That's how I got this you see. These dents I got down the mines when I was a bach. Lucky to be alive really. Oh, but your working, you don't want to hear about that now do you?"

He looked like he wanted to tell her, and she was intrigued to hear, sensing the possibility of an essay in the making. She pressed him to continue, "yes, I'd love to hear, tell me about it, um, If you don't mind?" The manager was nowhere in sight so she did not need to worry about getting into trouble for gossiping. It was not as if she had any pressing business to attend to anyway.

His voice took on a somber tone, "well, you see, I used to work up by Dowlais, in one of the pits. It was 1938, a whole gang of us was down in shaft eleven. We were miles from the main pit shaft, checking up on the workings to see they were all safe and sturdy. All of a sudden there was an explosion, methane you see, and the whole branch came crashing down on us. I lost a few good friends that day, God bless 'em. I was trapped, me head was caught under a collapsed pit prop. You can imagine, I thought I was done for. So I lay there barely alive, but singing and praying."

A far away look had now crossed his face, he was deep in his reminiscence, remembering every moment of the fateful day. He continued, "ai, so I was singing, ready to meet my maker, when, in the middle of 'Bread of Heaven', I 'eard Dai Evans shouting. 'Is that you Pricey boy?' he called, 'keep it up butt and we'll soon find you'. So I sang on and eventually they got me out, took 'em two days, and they had me written off for dead."

Continue to The final part of Mr Price >>

Mr Price - Part 2

Mr Price - A Short Story By David Lloyd - Part 2

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