Page 34 of Big Nick Energy
We stop at a small food van with a couple of tables out front decorated with bottles of condiments and a fair bit of festive greenery. I look up at the name of the van. ‘Getting Piggy Wit’ It’. I burst out laughing. ‘That is amazing.’
There’s that half smile again. As soon as the owner clocks Nick, he waves his hands in the air, a huge grin on his face. ‘Nicholas North, my old mucker. How are you, mate?’ The owner wears a t-shirt with his company logo on, a bandana and apron, and leans over the counter to shake Nick’s hand.
‘I was in the neighbourhood. Hank, this is Kay, she works at the local library. Kay, this is Hank,’ he says.
He swiftly raises his eyebrows to Nick who returns a stern look. I do think back to when the other Nick introduced me the other night, how the introduction wasn’t as quick or authentic. ‘The library? The old building near the park? Lovethat place. How’s the book drive going? I keep seeing flyers for it everywhere. I’ll drop by some stuff one day.’
‘It’s going OK. And yeah, thank you – you’re welcome any time,’ I say.
‘Excellent… so I’ll assume you’re here for some scran?’ he says.
‘Yeah, I’ll have a hog roast special, chilli relish on mine and extra crackling? Kay?’
I stop for a moment mainly because I’m mesmerised by the smell of the roast pork, sage and cranberry, and the fact he has a bucket of crackling just sitting there.
‘Umm, I guess the same. Do you have apple sauce?’ I ask.
‘Does the Pope like Jesus? Of course, lovely. Make it myself.’
Am I drooling? I think I am. How did he know I absolutely adore a hog roast? Did Lucy tell him? It’s the sort of thing you don’t see a lot – the vans and stalls make an appearance around autumn and wintertime, and even then, the quality varies. I once went to an evening wedding reception that was putting on a hog roast, though I didn’t care much for the cousin who invited me. I watch as Hank masterfully slices through rolls and starts layering them with meat and trimmings.
‘So how’s the family? I think Nell has asked us to do a couple of weekends, yeah?’ Hank asks.
‘Yep. Look forward to having you there. Family are all good. Busy with Christmas. Did you get your tree?’
‘Of course. Absolute beauty. It’s what my boy’s good at. Pork and wood,’ he says, chuckling at his own joke. That was funny, but Nick looks down, blushing and shaking his head. As he does, Hank turns to me, pointing at Nick and putting a thumbs up, mouthing the wordstop bloke. I nod.
He finishes creating our rolls and then wraps them in paper, handing them over. I go into my handbag to get my wallet. ‘How much do we owe you?’
‘Nothing,’ Hank says. ‘Put your money away.’
‘But I owe Nick here.’
‘Then you’ll have to think of another way to repay him.’
‘Hank,’ Nick warns him.
‘Mate, you are the reason I can keep this van open and have a livelihood. Begone with both of you, tell your mates, do that social media stuff. I’ll see you at the farm and you at your lovely library,’ he says.
Nick whispers his thank yous as we walk away. I don’t wait. I take that loaded bap in my hands, all warm and fragrant. I inhale it deeply and then take a bite, my teeth snapping at crispy crackling, the apple sauce tart and slightly warm against the tender meat and soft bread of the bap. I don’t care for anyone called Nick now. I’m going to run off and marry this sandwich. I sigh and close my eyes.
‘You OK?’ Nick asks me, interrupting this love affair.
‘I’m in love…’ I say, my mouth full.
‘With Hank? He’s engaged I’m afraid,’ he says, biting into his roll effortlessly. How does anyone look good eating like that? I eat messy. I know there is stuffing on my upper lip.
‘This is astounding. This is one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.’
He stops chewing for a bit. I know what I said and I don’t care for any alternative meanings there because that is the goddamn truth. If I know this man is here then sod my cheese sandwiches, I am coming here every day until the library shuts down for Christmas.
‘Shall we keep walking?’ he asks.
I nod, my mouth full of food. We walk away from the market, down an alleyway that leads to the river and find a bench along the path; above us strings of lights hang between the lampposts. Steam rises from our food and I hold mine to my chest almost protectively, in case a city pigeon or small dog comes for me.
‘Enjoying that, are we?’ he asks. I am also aware that I must be making noises to express my satisfaction. Those noises must be slightly suspicious.
‘Hmmm. I’m sorry,’ I say suddenly. ‘He asked for some social media love. Was I supposed to take a picture of it first?’
