All the Tricks of Their World

by T B Gayle

  Pascal crumpled down into his usual seat and logged on. He wanted to ask the guy sitting next to him if he thought it was worrying that some girl he hadn’t seen in ten years somehow knew where he worked and had been hanging around his flat causing all sorts of grief with his neighbours. He would have asked, but they didn’t really talk much about that sort of thing. It was usually more along the lines of, ‘Good morning,’ or ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Morning,’ said Pascal.

  ‘Morning,’ he said.

  It was hard for Pascal to get motivated to think much about working, what with his pounding head and everything that had happened with Isobel. What if she’s dangerous? wondered Pascal. Maisie sure had seemed worried about her, and that lump on Maisie’s head hadn’t just turned up on its own. This could be his last day on earth for all Pascal knew, which wasn’t the greatest of thoughts seeing he was going to be sitting down in front of a computer typing for most of it. That was just the sort of guy he was, though. Even if he knew Isobel was going to wrap her hands around his throat that night as he slept, he probably still would have just sat at his computer all day. He didn’t really have anything much better to do.

  Snap out of it, Pascal told himself. He had to knuckle down and get something done. He was already way behind as it was. But work was so hard to take seriously compared to Isobel and everything. All the team were doing was rebuilding something that everyone was already happily enough using. It was just a different version of the same thing, built in some new tech that Pascal was having trouble getting his head around.

  He didn’t really want to think about that. He was having a hard enough time worrying about Isobel without worrying about how bad a job he was doing. It kind of wasn’t fair in a way; Pascal wasn’t even doing that much better than her. He had a few more showers than her and had somewhere to hide away at night, but it wasn’t like he was sitting with his feet up enjoying some good life or anything.

  God, I hope she’s not downstairs waiting for me, he thought. He had to try and remember to head out the front way when he went for lunch. You don’t have time for lunch, he told himself.

  He really had to talk to someone about her, but he wasn’t sure there was anyone that would have wanted him talking to them. Everyone had their heads down, staring at their screens. Besides, thought Pascal, you can’t just go from no-one knowing you to telling them about some old friend stalking you. Things didn’t work like that.

  The only thing Pascal could think to do was call his dad. His dad had liked Isobel almost as much as Pascal had. He knew what she was like. And Pascal’s dad was amazing; he always knew what to do. He could fix leaking taps, switch batteries on smoke detectors, and pat a son on the back who’d just gotten out in cricket and say, ‘You’ll be right.’

  The only trouble was, Pascal didn’t want to be there talking to him about Isobel and have him come out and say, ‘Hey, how are you, anyway?’ Pascal wasn’t feeling up to talking about that. That’s where the whole Maisie thing hurt. He’d really wanted to be able to tell his dad, ‘You’re not going to believe this girl I met.’

  Pascal put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. When that didn’t help, he opened his drawer and swallowed a couple of the Panadols he had stashed away for just such an occasion. He knew they left him feeling a bit weird, washed out, barely there, but he doubted anyone was going to notice much difference.

  The team held their daily stand-up, and Pascal tried to explain that he was almost done on the same piece of work that he’d told them he was almost done on for the last few days. Then he made some tea, sat back down at his desk, and began wondering why Isobel had said he wasn’t real. It was an odd thing to say to someone. She had said a lot of odd things, but that one had really stood out for him. Does she think I’m fake? wondered Pascal. But it wasn’t like he’d ever promised her they’d be friends forever or anything like that. Besides, what did it have to do with her if he put on a brave face and pretended things were maybe going better for him than they were and all that? That’s just what people did. No-one wanted to see him moping about because he was living some crappy life. They’d just say, ‘Well, stop living such a crappy life,’ and he’d have to tell them, ‘I’m trying.’

  Pascal opened his desk drawer and took a couple more of the Panadols, then he stood staring blankly at his screen, trying not to think that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if Isobel did break into his flat and wrap her hands around his throat. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about finishing this project, he told himself.

  XXI

  Maisie woke feeling even more terrible than normal. She knew that had more to do with how much she’d drunk the night before than anything else, but still, she couldn’t help worrying. She was meant to feel better after a good night’s sleep. Everyone knew that. She wasn’t meant to wake holding her head in all sorts of pain.

  She just wanted to close her eyes and go back to dreaming. It was like she was someone different there. It was like she went on this adventure night after night, only for the light to steal it away each morning. All she was left with was this fading feeling of having felt special, like someone that had mattered. She was feeling the opposite of special lying there in her bed with her eyes wide open, all her antics at the restaurant and afterwards coming back to haunt her. She’d treated her neighbour so awfully, and all he’d been trying to do was like her. Maisie didn’t know what was wrong with her. And she didn’t even want to think about what had happened with Sam. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and forget it all, but she knew if she did there wouldn’t be much left of the day and there were things she needed to do. She needed to find a job. She needed to go see a doctor; she felt terrible on top of terrible.

  Why did you drink so much? she asked herself. It had been a hard night for her to get through, and she had a feeling the day wasn’t going to be much better. It was so hard to wake and have to remember that she wasn’t the hero of her dreams, that she was someone that she didn’t want to be.

  XXII

  Pascal was so lost in thought, thinking about all the things that his team were going to pick apart with the work he’d done, that he completely forgot to check whether Isobel was still about. Instead, he walked out, heading toward Parliament with his head down, his eyes hurting from staring at the screen all day, and nearly ran right into her. It wasn’t like he’d left on time or anything either. If she’d been waiting for him, she would have had to have been there for at least an hour. God, I hope she hasn’t been there all day, Pascal told himself. She was out front this time at least; it wasn’t like she’d stayed in the exact same spot as the morning or anything. Thinking about that made him start remembering all the crazy things she’d been going on about that morning, and he had to curse himself all over again for not spotting her and creeping out the back way instead.

  Oh well, it’s done now, thought Pascal. He couldn’t just turn around and run back inside. He had a feeling his wallet was going to be feeling a lot lighter after the conversation that was coming, though.

  ‘Hey, how’s things?’ he said. He knew how she was – terrible – but he had to say something; he couldn’t just stand there as she stared at him. Of course, she didn’t answer. Pascal almost smiled, thinking how crazy it would have been if she’d maybe given him a hug and said she was feeling better and was sorry for how out of it she must have seemed that morning. ‘No worries,’ Pascal would have told her. He knew no-one felt the best all the time. And he probably would have taken her out for a drink somewhere after that, so they could talk about the fun they’d had as kids and all that.

  The thought of that made him almost turn away and wipe his eyes. After a rough day at work it would have been nice to have had her there to talk to, the real Isobel that is, the girl he’d been friends with, the one that used to smile at him and not just stare like she was trying to figure out how to stab him and make off with his wallet without anyone noticing.

  He would have loved to
ask her what she’d been up to, and she could have told him about uni and about all the whales she’d saved on the weekend with her hippie friends. It would have been great. And it wouldn’t have been like he would have asked for her number at the end or anything like that. It would’ve just been good to catch up with her, see her again.

  She kept staring at him. ‘What happened to you, Isobel?’ he said to her. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, though. He definitely didn’t want to know what it was like for her living on the streets. She wasn’t the cute kid she’d once been, but she wasn’t an entire disaster yet either. Pascal had seen the sorts of homeless guys out there; he was sure, even looking as awful as she was, Isobel would’ve seemed like some sort of alright to most of them. He really didn’t want to think about that.

  The other thing Pascal knew was what homeless types like Isobel did with the money they begged for. They weren’t out there buying sandwiches for tea, that was for sure. The more Isobel stared at him, the more worried Pascal was about helping her. Her eyes didn’t seem right: all dark and distant. But what else are they meant to do? he asked himself. If Pascal’s life had been half as bad as hers, he would’ve wanted something to help him forget it too, something to make things feel alright even if it was just for a few hours.

  He actually was kind of feeling a bit like that, like he wouldn’t have minded having something to take his mind of things: work and Maisie and all that. He wasn’t quite up for the stare-inducing trouble that Isobel must have been on, but he thought a few beers might go down well.

  ‘I want to be with you,’ she said.

  Pascal blinked. It wasn’t something he’d expected her to say and he wasn’t quite sure how to reply. They had been friends once, but it felt more like some random stranger had come up to him and asked if he wanted to go out. It felt nice to be wanted for a change, but Pascal wasn’t sure Isobel was anyone he wanted wanting him. The whole thing was a mess. All he’d been moping about for weeks was why couldn’t he find some alright girl to be with, but now that he had one right in front of him, he was still moping, thinking that Isobel wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d been imagining an alright girl. It wasn’t like he’d wanted someone that was magazine cover beautiful or anything, it was just he wouldn’t have minded someone that didn’t have eyes like a creature from some horror movie staring at him like he was about to be her next victim.

  The worst thing was, it felt like they were meant to be together, like he’d made this wish for someone and here she was. She’s probably about as good as God or whoever thinks you can do, Pascal told himself, which made him feel pretty awful. He knew he wasn’t the best guy going around, but he hadn’t exactly thought of himself as the perfect match for some homeless woman either.

  It would have been different if Isobel was talking to him, if she was still as fun to be around as she’d been when they were kids. He would have put up with her messy hair and her weird eyes if she’d smiled at him like she’d used to. He could have bought her better clothes, given her some sunglasses and told her to never to take them off.

  ‘Let’s head to the pub,’ said Pascal. ‘I really need a drink.’

  XXIII

  It had sounded good in theory, but actually turning up to a pub with a tattered and torn homeless woman in tow wasn’t the greatest thing Pascal had ever done. Everyone turned to stare at them. It may not have quite been one of those scenes where everyone stopped talking and stood there looking shocked, but Pascal could tell that’s what they wanted to do.

  Isobel wasn’t someone you brought to a place like that without people wondering what sort of a person you were for bringing a person like that to place like this. It wasn’t exactly doing his reputation a lot of good – not that his reputation was that great to start with, but it had never been ‘turning up to a pub with some homeless woman’ bad. Pascal could tell that not a lot of people were there thinking, oh that’s nice of him, helping out an old friend who’s down on her luck. Instead, he could tell they’d all jumped on the ‘how desperate must he be?’ bandwagon.

  It might have looked a bit better if Pascal hadn’t been so dressed up; he was there in a suit with Isobel next to him in rags. It was no wonder everyone was thinking the whole thing odd. Even Pascal was finding it a bit odd.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, he told himself. He wanted to turn and tell Isobel it might be best if they headed somewhere else, but the thought of having to explain why was almost worse than the thought of everyone thinking that he and Isobel had something going on.

  The pub was one of those done-up British sorts with a big bar in the middle, polished wood everywhere, and pictures of soccer tops for decorations on the walls. It looked to be packed full of business people trying to forget how dull their day had been and that there was probably more of the same on the way tomorrow. A few uni student types were scattered about, but there weren’t a whole lot of other homeless people. Isobel had that honour all to herself.

  It’s not all bad, thought Pascal. If he’d brought a girl that actually spoke he would have had a hard time hearing her with all the noise echoing about the place.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Pascal, leaning close and almost shouting in Isobel’s ear. She said something in reply, but Pascal couldn’t make it out. It didn’t really matter, though. He was sure she’d be happy with whatever he ended up getting her; beggars can’t be choosers and all that. The only thing was, he wasn’t sure if buying her a beer would be the smartest thing, not with all her troubles, so he got her a lemon squash and ordered some chips, knowing she had to be hungry. He wasn’t sure the chips would be vegetarian in a place like this, but then he wasn’t sure if Isobel believed in any of that stuff anymore. Pascal had to smile, imagining the Salvos rocking up in their food van with this big tray of burgers, and Isobel there all thin, shaking her head.

  They managed to find a spot to stand in the corner where it was a little quieter and where they weren’t getting in anyone’s way. ‘Cheers,’ said Pascal, sipping his beer. After the sip, Pascal remembered that he didn’t really like beer that much. Isobel seemed to like her drink a lot better. She took a sip and then gulped it down like it was the most delicious thing she’d ever had, well, the most delicious thing she’d had since she’d been living on the streets, anyway.

  Pascal knew what he wanted to speak to her about, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. It was never easy giving someone the ‘I think we should just be friends’ speech especially when he wasn’t even that keen on being friends anymore really. He wouldn’t have minded giving her the ‘It’s been good seeing you, but please leave me alone now’ speech but it seemed a bit harsh when he couldn’t rule out that maybe the whole reason she’d latched onto him so hard was because she could tell he’d been feeling miserable. She might have been trying to help. God, I hope not, thought Pascal. That’d make what he was going to tell her even harder. He doubted any girl wanted to hear some guy tell them ‘I’m lonely, and a bit miserable, but I’d kind of rather stay that way than be with you.’ It wouldn’t really be the biggest confidence builder. But she had to understand that it wasn’t like he hated her or anything like that. If she got help, got herself together, then Pascal was sure things might be different. But it was one of those mights like thinking he might have had a chance with Maisie.

  Pascal took another sip of his beer. It’s all so stupid, he thought. When he was a kid, he would’ve been the happiest kid going around if someone had told him that when he was older, Isobel would be like begging him to go out with her. Hell, even a week ago he would have been grinning ear to ear if someone had said he’d see Isobel again and she wouldn’t be able to take her eyes off him. The reality of it was different. Isobel was standing beside him with the empty glass in her hand, staring at him with her wild unsettling eyes.

  ‘Do you ever dream about being someone else?’ said Isobel.

  ‘Everyone does, I guess,’ said Pascal. He was trying to be as nice about it as h
e could. He dreamt about things picking up in his life, and sometimes about being like someone he was watching in some movie, but Pascal never actually wanted to be that someone else. The whole thought of it was a little weird, but his weird and the weird of someone living on the streets were probably two different things.

  ‘I mean, do you feel like this isn’t who you are?’ said Isobel. ‘That there’s another you.’

  ‘Yeah, for sure,’ said Pascal. ‘There’s circumstances, you know.’ He was sure in a few years when he was married and starting a family, he’d laugh at how sad and worried he’d always been about everything. Things change. And he wanted to say that same sort of thing to Isobel. Pascal was sure if they ran into each other again in another ten years, she’d be shaking her head over what a mess she’d been. She’d probably have some handsome bearded hipster guy hanging off her arm, and Pascal would be shaking his head wondering why he’d brushed her off that night at the pub. He really hoped that’s what was going to happen, anyway.

  ‘Pascal,’ said Isobel, leaning closer. ‘Are you part of it? Do you know what’s going on?’

  Pascal put his hand to his head and took a big gulp of his beer. He’d just started to think she was maybe coming around, that they might actually have some alright conversation, but that just wasn’t where she was at.

  He needed some space, somewhere he could think of the right things to tell her. He didn’t want her in tears or thinking everything was over like he’d almost felt after the whole Maisie thing. That was what he didn’t get: Isobel had barely even glanced at him in the restaurant, and when she had it wasn’t like she’d been looking at him like she’d wanted him to climb some balcony to kiss her. There wasn’t any of that.