2 stories by George Vincent

The Body  

When I was 20 years old I was involved in an incident where I pulled the body of a drowned drunk chav out the sea during my time as a RNLI beach lifeguard, one of my many occupations in this strange and twisted life of ours.

I was failing university, living in dubious circumstances with a bunch of 30yr old loser skater dudes, smoking dope constantly. I did the lifeguard training because a pal of mine said it was a doss job and good craic, sexy ladies in skimpy red and yellow bikinis. There was none of that, and even if there was, I never had any luck with the lassies.

It was a Sunday in July, overcast and foggy, and I was stationed on Seaton Sluice. I rocked up to work with a heavy stone-over. I was working with a girl called Maddy and a lad named Jake. They were good pals and every morning they’d take it in turns to bring each other an oat-milk latte.

I got away with sitting in the base for most of the day, occasionally going in the sea when the sun was out. I couldn’t surf. Jake tried to show me how, but I got flipped upside down and slammed onto the sand.

It was a day like any other: them two yapping on and me trying to catch a nap. No one in the sea. Friends playing on Maddy’s laptop. The base phone rang. Maddy answered it, she was the senior, the one in charge. It was a woman calling from the bottom end of the beach saying a man had gone in the sea and she couldn’t see him anymore.

Jake went down to check it out. I sat there thinking it was probably nothing, shitting my kegs that it was. Maddy said to me if Jake radios back up then I’d have to run down with the rescue board. We waited. Then Jake radioed.

Maddy screamed GO! and I was up and moving like a man in a dream. I vaulted over the promenade wall and down onto the sand, grabbed the board and started running. My lungs were fucked. I could taste blood in my mouth. My vision went like I was looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars and I had the horrific impression that the physical state of the sky had morphed into a sinister grey and black liquid that was swirling above me.

I looked out to sea and saw Jake go under a wave. There was a man on the shore flapping and wailing incoherently. I ignored him and tried to break through the waves. I got knocked back three times and made it on the fourth attempt. When I came up I heard Jake scream my name.

The body was face down in the water. It was a large purple body with blue Hawaiian shorts on. Jake was on the other side of it to me and it was just there between us, an unfathomable object. 

We struggled against the churning waves trying to get it on the board. The head fell over the side where I was in the water. The eyes met mine. They were red and white and bulging, and the pupils were the size of pinheads and there was nothing in them. His face was purple and bubbly white foam was falling out of his mouth which hung open. I put my hand under his chin to keep his head out of the water. But it kept falling in, like it wanted to keep drinking.

Jake got on the board and started to paddle towards the shore. From behind us came a roaring sound. It was the lifeboat. The boat came up to us and the helmsman said they would take the body in.

We made it to the shore panting and shivering, hollowed shells of adrenaline and horror. The last thing I saw before I looked away forever was a little purple cock bouncing up-and-down as the lifeboat crew performed CPR. The bonny Hawaiian shorts had come off in the process of dragging the poor corpse up the beach.

Fool’s Spring

Last month I got the sack and my brother sorted me out with a job at the supermarket where he works. Driving the vans.

I went to the interview hungover and the manager was a 22 year old lad who said I gave him the best answers to the questions he’d ever heard. He threw a load of uniform at me and told me to come in on Friday morning, 5am. 

That morning I stumbled into the staff room and struggled for 5 minutes at the clock-in iPad. When I turned around a young bloke was stood there grinning at me. He looked fresh and full of beans, I don’t know how at that hour. 

‘Hello, mate. Did you manage you get your shift swapped then?’

I knew he was confusing me for my brother. He was eagerly waiting for a response I could not formulate. 

There were a few seconds of direct eye contact before I sort of stuttered, 

‘errm, I think you’re mixing me up, mate.’ 

He kept on smiling. 

‘Wait, eh? Charlie, aye?’

‘Nononono, I’m not Charlie, I’m his brother.’

‘Brother? Fucking hell! That’s weird like! Ah well, hello mate. My name’s Johnny.’

‘Areet, I’m Ed.’

He introduced me to the other drivers, including my mentor, Julian. A stout old bald geezer from Durham.

He showed me how to do the van check and how to work the handset and we set off on our route. Our first drop was an hour’s drive up to Hexham. 

‘Aye, so, these are the best routes these. Cushdy little drive out. You should see the size of some of the houses out here man, fuuuckn hell! Some of the wifies too, phwaaa, they’re tidy as fuck, like. Here, you want a Jakeman’s?’

I took the menthol sweet and looked out the window at the pink sun rising over the rolling Northumberland hills. I had a nagging impulse to be out there in the cold air and the wind, prancing about like a loon.

The job was easy enough. Sometimes customers were funny about their substitutions or short date items or the milk cartons spilling everywhere. That wasn’t our problem though, we could always blame it on the shoppers and give them stuff for free. They loved us. And Julian was right about the milfs. 

I shadowed him for a couple weeks then got to drive the van on my own after I passed a test.  

Spring came round and there was a week of consistent sunny weather. The daffodils started to sprout their yellow heads by the sides of the roads. I worked in shorts and a t shirt, fit as a fiddle, the jolly deliveryman.

The brief sunshine was followed by torrential rains. They put me on the busiest shifts and I was late for most slots. Along the roads the daffodils which had sprouted too eagerly died and drowned in the waterlogged mud. 

I found it worked out alright to go to bed drunk and rise at 4 because you’d still be a bit squiffy. 

One night I went out in Tynemouth and had a skinful with the old cronies. I met up with Mia after and we had many more and I drove home drunk and passed out on the bed. 

In the storeroom the next day I checked the sheet and I was on a split run, mostly flats and care-homes.

For lunch I sat on the beach. I was afraid of the sky and the sea and everything. The manager called me saying he needed to chat when I was back.

When I’d finished and got back there was a bad atmosphere.  I saw Gav, another driver.

‘Areet, mate.’

‘Not really like.’

‘What’s up?’

 Before he replied the manger was in my face.

‘Hi, are you able to cover Johnny’s shift tomorrow?’

‘Eh, aye. Everything alright?’

I got the news from Charlie. Johnny had fallen off a ladder cleaning his Mam’s drains. Dead.

I had seen him one other time apart from that first day, when we were filling up our vans. Big cheeky grin on him.

‘How ya getting on then?’

‘Good aye.’

‘Best job in the world this, innit?’

‘Oh, aye.’

George Vincent is a writer from the Newcastle Upon Tyne. He used to be a chef, now he is a delivery driver. His debut chapbook “Inside the Blueberry Gown” is available from Alien Buddha Press.