Bucket Nut Read Free

hungry.
    They hurled themselves out of the shadows, butting into my knees and thighs, slobbering.
    â€˜Hello, Ramses,’ I said. ‘Hello, Lineker.’
    They were all right, as dogs go – but over-eager. They led the way to the shed, and I unlocked it. I mixed a couple of scoops of doggy-toast into the revolting meaty gunge they eat and stood back while they munched it up.
    Then I picked up the torch and did my rounds.
    It was a big place so a round took quite a long time. The best bit was the second-hand park because that was lit. All I had to do was check the fence and walk between the cars making sure no one was camping out on the back seats.
    Then I walked round the sales room and offices, making sure all the doors were locked.
    The worst part was the wrecker’s yard. There was a big spotlight but the bulb was gone. I’d spoken to Mr Gambon about it three times, but he was a tight sod.
    â€˜You’ve got plant there,’ I told him. ‘Worth thousands. You’ve got parts and spares – mountains of them. A light bulb’d make my job easier.’
    â€˜Lazy cow,’ he said. Me! But I should’ve known better than to ask for something on the grounds it’d make my job easier. That’s like giving them a licence to say ‘no’.
    One of these days, I thought, I’d talk to the Owner about it. But since he moved out to Ongar I don’t see much of him.
    Lineker was snuffling in a pile of steel rods, but Ramses ran off to the perimeter fence. I took off after Ramses because he looked purposeful. I caught up in time to see him snap the hind-quarters off a big brown rat.
    There were a couple of weak lights on the fence, and a sign which read Armour Protection. I don’t know what Armour Protection is, or if it ever existed. The only protection that yard had, was me, Ramses and Lineker.

Chapter 3
    My house was a Static Holiday Van.
    Sometimes, along with used cars and commercial vehicles the Owner buys second-hand caravans and mobile homes. My Static had spent most of its life at Poole Harbour in Dorset, and when the weather is damp, you can still smell brine and sea-mould in the furnishings.
    I would prefer something with its own wheels because then, if the worst happened, I could simply hitch it on to a car and move my whole home. If you want to move a Static you have to hoist it onto a flat-bed, and you can’t do it quickly.
    But when the Owner employed me, the Static was all he had. And I had to admit, smell or no, it beat dung out of a hostel.
    At the time, everything I owned could be stuffed in a carrier bag. After six months in the Static my possessions have expanded, but I’m still proud of the fact that in the event of a disaster I could be out of there, fully packed and ready for anything in ten minutes flat.
    In fact, I’ll tell you a secret – out of the things I carry at all times is a two-ounce tobacco tin, and in that tin is everything I need to make light, heat, food and take care of minor ailments. There are tallow-protected matches, a flat shaved candle, scalpel blades, wire, a flexible saw, waterproof plasters, needle and thread, aspirins, tea bags and chicken stock cubes. It is really amazing what you can get into a two-ounce tobacco tin if you are scientific.
    I got the idea out of an SAS Survival Handbook. It makes me feel better, and I’d recommend it to anyone who regularly wakes up in the middle of the night anxious about floods, fire, nuclear fallout or homelessness. Take a tip from me – be prepared for the worst and you’ll sleep better.
    Nighttime is the worst time. I like to be out and doing something rather than lying alone in the dark trying to sleep. That’s why being a night-watch-woman is such an ace job for me. I’m not supposed to goto sleep, and if I want company there’s always Ramses and Lineker, or a chat through the fence to some night-owl passerby.
    I finished my rounds and then