Vegan sausage rolls

There it was again, its two small dead eyes regarding her through the bakery’s glass front. Head cocked onto a dirty grey sloped shoulder. Feet scratching at the gum on the block paving. The problem was that she knew, and the pigeon knew, that sooner or later the heat would become too much. It was backing up already on the shop floor, the ovens had been pumping it out for a solid three hours, and she could feel the sweat starting to bead, and trickle down beneath the company-issue tabard.

It wasn’t so bad in winter, it was a comfort and a friend, filling the bakery with warmth and a steamy fug. But this was June, half past eight in the morning and already the sun was pitiless. The front would have to be opened, it was only a matter of time. She knew this and she knew that the pigeon knew this. It was there every morning.

A few of them had tried it on for a bit; one which was white and brown, rather than the usual mix of greys, there was a one legged one, too, it got about surprisingly well. But gradually they’d stopped hanging around outside the bakery, she still saw the one legged one hopping round by the bins outside the chippy. Only this one remained. Every morning. Staring at her through the glass.

It was only two nights ago that Shirl had said something about reincarnation over Bacardi and cokes in the Queens’, and she was beginning to think that her sister might have been on to something. That man on the telly, she’d said, the one with the purple shirt. He said there’s only so much energy to go round in the Universe, so you have to come back. Makes sense. Makes sense. Stands to reason.

In a way, the pigeon reminded her of her Ron, two years dead and an inveterate thief of pies, pastries and anything she’d bake at home. She’d taken the job to get her out of the house and away from him, then he’d moved on and she’d stayed put because what else was there to do? Yes, there was something in what Shirl said. The pigeon stared at her, tap-tapped the sheet glass with its beak, scratch-scratched its feet and she was sure that its dead dead eyes were saying come on Carol love, you can spare a steak slice for me, can’t you? How about one of them vegan sausage rolls? I’ve heard they’re nice.