it. Why didn’t your dad get you to hospital?’
‘Didn’t see him last night. He was out late. Asleep when I left this morning.’
Sam leant in to inspect the damage more closely. ‘Well, it won’t kill you,’ he said, finally. ‘I’ll get it cleaned and wrapped up properly. Dealt with worse.’
‘You’re not going to try and stitch it, are you?’ asked Tom, a nervous look in his eyes.
‘No, nothing so exotic. But I know how to clean up a scratch like this.’ Sam turned on the tap. ‘Might leave a bit of a scar, though.’
‘Don’t mind.’
‘Alright, then. Get it under that water.’
Tom did as he was told. The wound stung as the cold water splashed over it, the pain making him shudder. As he held his hand under the flow, Sam opened the cupboard beneath the basin and brought out the first-aid tin. He took a piece of cotton wool from it, which he wet with antiseptic.
‘This’ll smart a bit.’
The cotton wool turned pink as it was dabbed into the cut. Tom’s hand trembled a little with each wipe.
‘Now, keep some pressure on it.’
Tom placed his hand flat on the work surface next to the basin, squeezing the cotton wool onto his wound as Sam went into the coldroom. He returned a few moments later, carrying a small metal pot. It was marked, ‘Goose Fat’.
‘You’re not going to put that in it, are you?’ asked Tom, anxiously.
‘No, lad.’ Sam laughed. ‘Just the coldest thing I could find. I’m going to apply some pressure with it. The cold should stop the bleeding in a minute or two. Cut-men used to use cold coins on boxer’s eyes in the old days. Bet you didn’t know that, huh?’
Sam removed the cotton wool and pressed the pot down hard on the flesh of Tom’s hand. Tom grimaced.
‘Just a little longer,’ promised Sam. ‘Not hurting too bad, is it?’
‘Can hardly feel it,’ said Tom, surprised how quickly the pain was being numbed.
Sam eventually lifted the pot away, giving them both an opportunity to look at the cleaned cut. It was deeper and longer than Tom had imagined it would be, dull pink round the edges and whitish in the centre. The visible capillaries were tiny red dots, just a little blood coming from them.
‘See? That looks better already,’ said Sam, pleased his cut-man technique had been successful.
He took out a large plaster from the first-aid tin and cut it into strips, using them to butterfly-stitch the wound, before re-bandaging Tom’s hand with a length of clean dressing, fixing everything in place with a safety pin.
‘Wasn’t too painful, was it?’
‘Nah,’ replied Tom bravely, drawing his hand up in front of him. He cradled it with his other as the numbness began to wear off. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re going to be neither use nor ornament with that on,’ said Sam, thinking about the day ahead. ‘You can help me out front and work the till. Reckon you can manage it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Tom, happy at the prospect of an easy morning’s work. He had seen enough blood for one day.
‘Right, then. Get changed and get to it.’
***
The shift seemed to pass quicker than usual, the steady stream of people in and out of the shop keeping Tom too busy to worry about his throbbing hand. It only seemed a moment before it was time for his mid-morning break.
‘How’s it bearing up?’ asked Sam.
‘Not bad.’
‘Well, it’s slowing down here. You can get off if you want; Kev and me can cope.’
‘Can I stay? I’m meant to be meeting Stevo. He said he’d be in at lunchtime.’
‘Ah, Stevo,’ said Sam, the tone in his voice implying he knew something Tom didn’t. ‘He’s a bit of a tearaway, that one. Mind he doesn’t go getting you in any trouble.’
‘He’s alright,’ Tom insisted. ‘You should’ve seen the way he sorted out that bloke from my school. It was great.’
‘Aye, I can believe it. Fighting runs in that family. You just watch yourself with him. Don’t let him get you into anything you shouldn’t. It’s all
‘Didn’t see him last night. He was out late. Asleep when I left this morning.’
Sam leant in to inspect the damage more closely. ‘Well, it won’t kill you,’ he said, finally. ‘I’ll get it cleaned and wrapped up properly. Dealt with worse.’
‘You’re not going to try and stitch it, are you?’ asked Tom, a nervous look in his eyes.
‘No, nothing so exotic. But I know how to clean up a scratch like this.’ Sam turned on the tap. ‘Might leave a bit of a scar, though.’
‘Don’t mind.’
‘Alright, then. Get it under that water.’
Tom did as he was told. The wound stung as the cold water splashed over it, the pain making him shudder. As he held his hand under the flow, Sam opened the cupboard beneath the basin and brought out the first-aid tin. He took a piece of cotton wool from it, which he wet with antiseptic.
‘This’ll smart a bit.’
The cotton wool turned pink as it was dabbed into the cut. Tom’s hand trembled a little with each wipe.
‘Now, keep some pressure on it.’
Tom placed his hand flat on the work surface next to the basin, squeezing the cotton wool onto his wound as Sam went into the coldroom. He returned a few moments later, carrying a small metal pot. It was marked, ‘Goose Fat’.
‘You’re not going to put that in it, are you?’ asked Tom, anxiously.
‘No, lad.’ Sam laughed. ‘Just the coldest thing I could find. I’m going to apply some pressure with it. The cold should stop the bleeding in a minute or two. Cut-men used to use cold coins on boxer’s eyes in the old days. Bet you didn’t know that, huh?’
Sam removed the cotton wool and pressed the pot down hard on the flesh of Tom’s hand. Tom grimaced.
‘Just a little longer,’ promised Sam. ‘Not hurting too bad, is it?’
‘Can hardly feel it,’ said Tom, surprised how quickly the pain was being numbed.
Sam eventually lifted the pot away, giving them both an opportunity to look at the cleaned cut. It was deeper and longer than Tom had imagined it would be, dull pink round the edges and whitish in the centre. The visible capillaries were tiny red dots, just a little blood coming from them.
‘See? That looks better already,’ said Sam, pleased his cut-man technique had been successful.
He took out a large plaster from the first-aid tin and cut it into strips, using them to butterfly-stitch the wound, before re-bandaging Tom’s hand with a length of clean dressing, fixing everything in place with a safety pin.
‘Wasn’t too painful, was it?’
‘Nah,’ replied Tom bravely, drawing his hand up in front of him. He cradled it with his other as the numbness began to wear off. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re going to be neither use nor ornament with that on,’ said Sam, thinking about the day ahead. ‘You can help me out front and work the till. Reckon you can manage it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Tom, happy at the prospect of an easy morning’s work. He had seen enough blood for one day.
‘Right, then. Get changed and get to it.’
***
The shift seemed to pass quicker than usual, the steady stream of people in and out of the shop keeping Tom too busy to worry about his throbbing hand. It only seemed a moment before it was time for his mid-morning break.
‘How’s it bearing up?’ asked Sam.
‘Not bad.’
‘Well, it’s slowing down here. You can get off if you want; Kev and me can cope.’
‘Can I stay? I’m meant to be meeting Stevo. He said he’d be in at lunchtime.’
‘Ah, Stevo,’ said Sam, the tone in his voice implying he knew something Tom didn’t. ‘He’s a bit of a tearaway, that one. Mind he doesn’t go getting you in any trouble.’
‘He’s alright,’ Tom insisted. ‘You should’ve seen the way he sorted out that bloke from my school. It was great.’
‘Aye, I can believe it. Fighting runs in that family. You just watch yourself with him. Don’t let him get you into anything you shouldn’t. It’s all
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