Chapter Text
It was June of 1976 when he saw the boy again. He'd not been around in a while, off at some boarding school. On scholarship, it must be, because he knew the family, and you get to know a lot about people's finances when you make food for them regularly and see how many portions they order. He'd ordered one portion of fish and chips. Jack expected it'd be shared out between two plates, with two mugs of tea and some of the white bread from the shop. It made sense, but he hoped the boy got a decent share. He was thin enough as it is. And he didn't think he'd got enough money to stretch to a second portion with the way he balked at the price.
"You're having me on."
"I'm not, lad. It's bloody inflation."
Jack watched the boy as he stared at the updated prices on the wall behind the counter again, probably hoping they'd go back to the old cost.
"Look, lad," Jack leaned over the counter, voice low. "I'll do you extra chips."
The sullen 16 year old thrust a hand into the pocket of what looked like a pair of his dad's old jeans, cinched tight around a too small waist.
When his hand emerged long fingers, like his mother's, sorted through the coins and retrieved 50p, dumping it onto the counter with a resigned air.
"Wibbits, too."
Jack stared at the money for a moment, then swept it into the register and started to scoop up far more than even a large portion of chips.
"Salt and vinegar?"
"Aye."
One portion of fish went into the boiling lard and the chips were quickly wrapped in the newspaper. But with another glance at the boy and the way he was staring carefully at the prices, recognising the way he was probably calculating what he could afford, Jack felt pity. It was hard on everyone. £20 never seemed to last long anymore, but the boy was fit and able, even if he was a bit odd, and he always seemed sharp. Too sharp, really. So sharp he'd cut himself if he weren't careful.
"You back for summer then? Could use a hand in here on Friday nights."
He felt those serious black eyes on the back of his neck, but the boy hadn't said no yet.
"Only for a couple hours, but I'd give you a quid for it, and you can take something home at the end of the day."
The silence was broken only by the bubbling of the fryer and the hum of the lights.
"Alright."
He handed the boy the bag of scraps from the side of the fryer and watched him pick at them while he waited.