The Baker

The streets were damp and dirty. Beggars and pick-picketers were scattered along the sides of the street, hidden in the shadows. The sky was bleak and cloudy, filled with pollution and smoke.

Her small boots stepped lightly on the cobbles. Quickly and rushed was how she walked, as if eager to escape someone following her. It was always an unpleasant trip, made once a month, maybe twice, and unfortunately with not much luck. The meat market was not always as honest and fresh as it should be. Nellie Lovett sighed as she looked up to the bleak sky, times was hard for her these days. Business was not going well, barely any customers, about two every week. She knew that this bad luck would continue unless she actually did something about it. A repaint of the pie shop, perhaps, or replacing pies with sweetmeats…No, she couldn't do that. That was the whole reason she had held onto the pie shop for so long, she had promised her dear deceased husband, Albert, to carry on the business. How could she betray her lovers dying wish?

Not really her lover though, she knew he had never truly loved her. He had only used her because she was a loyal worker, who had put a lot of effort into running 'Mr. Lovett's pie shop'. He had never given her the respect or love she had desperately wanted. Maybe it had something to do with the fact he had found out about her fondness of the new, handsome tenant. He was gone now, however, along with his wife and daughter…disappeared.

She reached the end of Fleet Street and spotted the old meat cart, rumbling along, smelling like rotten carcasses. She hurried over, basket swinging, and called out to the old meat seller. The old meat seller looked like he had been haunted by a ghost, for his eyes were deep set and gaunt. His skin looked as frail and wrinkly as the pages of a many century old book. He was bent over constantly, for his spine had long lost its use. Nellie was forced to shout for how much meat she needed, because the seller was partially deaf. He handed it to her in an old sack with several holes in it. She looked inside it and wrinkled her nose in disgust; old, moldy decaying meat lay inside the sack and its juices started to drip on her shoes. Holding the bag at arms length, she put her basket on the muddy ground, and fumbled with her other hand inside her coat. She managed to take out the few pennies she had earned from those couple of customers. Passing over the pathetic amount, she was about to pick up her basket and walk off, when the meat seller grunted. She looked around. He was shaking his head, pointing to the money. She panicked and said desperately, 'Not enough?' She counted the money herself in the sellers' grubby hand. 'The price 'as gone up' the seller mumbled. Nellie's eyes began to water as she remembered; there was a notice that had been sent out saying that fresh meat as harder to buy. She had completely forgotten. The seller grabbed the soaking, putrid bag and walked off, leaving Nellie standing there. No meat, and no meat meant no pies, and no pies meant, well, closing down the shop. She wiped the tears away, picked up her basket as she trudged back through the street. Another unsuccessful day. One of many that had been and she was sure was yet to come. She had to think of something; anything. She needed a miracle, a shining miracle to get her out of this.

Later on that day, as she was rolling some dough just for the sake of looking professional in case some dizzy customer came in, the bell of the shop door rang, and stepped her miracle. 'A customer!' she exclaimed. It was a miracle in the form of her late tenant.