Davo's Little Something Read Free

because he always brought food to work with him; generally sandwiches for smoko and a bit of stew or casserole which he’d keep in a small steamer and heat up for lunch. Even though the others often brought food themselves it struck them as a bit strange for a bachelor and they’d kid him about being an old sheila and mean.
    â€˜What’ve we got for smoko today, Davo?’ he asked, in a sing-song sort of voice with a smirk on his face.
    â€˜Today,’ replied Davo, ignoring the apprentice’s sarcasm, ‘lovely tender lamb sandwiches with chutney on Vogels bread, and a slice of beautiful fresh apple-pie. Does that sound alright?’ Davo probably was a bit oldfashioned but he didn’t mind baking a leg of lamb or a cake now and then and the unit had a modern kitchen full of all the latest appliances so why not use it.
    â€˜Jesus you’re tight. Why don’t you buy your lunch and not be such an old tart.’
    â€˜Yeah? And what have you got smart arse?’
    The apprentice opened up a white paper bag to reveal two glazed buns he’d bought earlier. They were smeared with sickly red jam and pumped full of thick, mock cream, that looked more like something you’d see your grandfather shaving with. ‘There you are,’ he said cockily. ‘Two grouse cream buns.’ Davo turned away and shook his head in disgust. ‘Fair dinkum, I feel sorry for you. How could you possibly eat that shit? No wonder you’ve got a head full of rotten pimples. Jack Nicklaus’ll be ringing you up soon, wanting to know what’s par for your face.’
    â€˜Ohh bullshit. I’m a footballer, I need the carbohydrates.’ ‘Carbo arseholes. Fair dinkum, you’ve got a hide to bag me for bringing a bit of decent tucker to work. Another two years of eating that shit and your face is gonna look like a second hand dart board.’
    â€˜Ohh bullshit.’
    As they continued up the stairs Dennis fell behind Davo and ran his hand across the stubble on his lumpy face that was too sore to shave: he hated to admit it but Davo was right.
    There were about a dozen or so others in the lunchroom. Davo nodded to a couple he knew as they threw their stuff on an empty table near the wall and got a large mug of tea each from a steaming urn in a sink near the corner. Davo got the morning paper out of his bag, spread it out and started reading it while he was eating, looking up once to make another comment about Dennis’s two repulsive looking cream buns.
    They were only there a few minutes when they were joined by two girls from the fruit and vegetable department. Vicky and Helen. Vicky was reasonably attractive, slim, dark hair, about twenty-two, but Helen was a fat, bosomy blonde, with one eye slightly out of alignment and a constant, high-pitched giggle.
    â€˜Hello, Davo darling,’ she gushed, clumsily plonking her ample backside at the table opposite him and Dennis.
    â€˜Hello, Helen. How are you sweetheart? Hello, Vicky,’ replied Davo, smiling over his paper.
    Davo was one of the few men who had a great deal of time for Helen and some of the gossips in the supermarket thought he was trying to have a bit of an affair there. But Davo was more cunning than that. Helen had at least a dozen good-looking girlfriends she used to run with and by running off Helen, if ever he saw her out and around the Eastern suburbs at night, Davo had more than his share of luck. Helen was none the wiser to Davo’s subterfuge and secretly in her heart nurtured the idea that Davo might eventually take her back to his unit one night for a cup of coffee and a bit of whatever.
    They sat there for about another ten minutes or so, Davo still reading his newspaper and looking up now and again to talk about nothing much in particular, TV, a bit of supermarket gossip, movies, till Dennis managed to swing the conversation round to football.
    After about another five minutes of listening to