CONTRABAND

Gemma Parry-Paxton

‘You sure no one came behind you?’
        ‘Absolutely certain. I left the car by the hospital and walked down. It’s pitch black!’
        A torch blinked through the darkness. Twopence turned the beam to show the carrier bag that he held in one arm.
        ‘They haven’t turned have they?’
        ‘No, luvvie. You want one or no?’
        It was a large bag, I could smell the earthiness, but I worried that there might be stones weighting the bottom.
        ‘I want to feel them. To check how they are.’
        I heard an irritated huffing emanate from Twopence. I was momentarily concerned that I had just ruined the deal. ‘Okay. I want thirty pounds.’
        I began to speak and stopped myself. He opened the sack and I felt inside. The potatoes were quite small but felt firm enough. I hoped they hadn’t gone to seed.
        ‘Fine.’ I had forty with me. Two crisp twenty-pound notes withdrawn from the bank earlier that day. I suspected Twopence had a friend at the bank and knew exactly how much I had.
        ‘I only have twenty with me though. Can I give you the ten tomorrow?’
        Twopence turned the torch upwards to illuminate his face. His eyebrows were raised, and his lips were set in a straight line. ‘No.’
        I sighed. Irritated by the failed stabilisers on the Royal Mail Cargo ship that had necessitated this ridiculous exchange.
        ‘Okay. But I only have two twenties. Do you have change?’
        Twopence roared, ‘Halfpence, Halfpence. Who the next bidder?’
        His son appeared from the darkness; the boy gingerly made his way across the rocks to our position by the customs’ building.
        I envisioned the disappointment if I returned home empty handed. Eight weeks with no potatoes and no fresh food but the local island greens that had the texture of rhubarb leaves.
        ‘Fine!’ I pushed the two notes into Twopence’s hand.
        He grunted and pushed the carrier bag towards me. Then vanished with his son in the direction of the town.