Mirror Man

by Jacques Von Kat

  ‘No, not yet,’ I said, but continued at his deflated exhale, ‘But I’m really going to try to stop, eventually. I can’t very well take the baby to the park and follow people at the same time, can I? And do you know what else? One day, I hope to look at you all properly without the mirrors. Even mum,’ I added.

  ‘That’s certainly something, John-Michael.’ He paused to slurp more of his tea, then he tapped his fingers lightly on the table. ‘I’ll have to put the word out that we’re taking on a few jobs, but I think I can get us a couple of services a week. What do you say?’

  ‘I say great. Let me know when you need me, and I’ll be ready.’

  ‘Are you sure you can do this? I know how much you like to do… other things, JC.’

  I nodded resolutely. ‘I’m sure. In fact, I want to do this—for our family.’

  ‘Well, then, I must say, John-Michael, you’ve well and truly surprised me this morning.’ He drained his mug, then pulled the newspaper towards him. ‘Right, I’ve got work to do and calls to make. How about you make us some toast with lashings of butter? Set us up for the day.’

  I hadn’t thought about eating until then. With all the excitement of my new outlook and the work I’d already done that morning, it had slipped my mind. I did as I was told, and as the smell of melted butter filled my nostrils, my stomach rumbled. I rammed down a slice before I got back to the table.

  Ten minutes later, I cleaned up my plate and mug at the sink, then turned to Grandad’s reflection; he was engrossed in the day’s crossword.

  ‘Water-clock…’ he mumbled. ‘Nine letters. What do you think, John-Michael?’

  ‘Clepsydra,’ I said. ‘I’m going to get ready, Grandad. I need to go to the library.’

  He raised an eyebrow, then scribbled down my answer. ‘The library? You after any particular book? I thought you’d just about read every book on your favourite subjects in there.’

  ‘Yes, I have, but I want a book on babies.’

  ‘Babies?’ He scoffed. ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘I want to learn about them before Tina’s comes.’

  ‘You are certainly taking your role as uncle seriously, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am, Grandad. I’m going to be the best one this town has ever seen.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m glad to hear it, son.’

  Chapter Eight

  I got washed and changed, then retrieved my tattered library card and the shoebox from under the bed where all my money was saved. I would have even more money in it if Mum would stop smashing my mirrors on a weekly basis. I put the small, orange card in my wallet with some money and headed into town.

  As I walked, the fog evaporated, and it looked like another moderately mild day. I reminded myself to keep my head up as much as possible, except when someone was walking my way. I found it difficult at first. My head kept lowering, forcing my eyes to drift back to the grey pavement beneath my feet. I had to battle hard with my brain to stop it from practising its usual instincts.

  It made me smile to view the town properly instead of through quick glances here and there. There were things I hadn’t noticed before, and though I still averted my gaze when someone came close, I enjoyed the new perspective and crossed my fingers in the hope I’d be able to maintain it.

  As I approached the library, I was beginning to win the battle with my brain, when I spotted The Suit sat on my second-favourite bench. My hands balled into fists at my sides; I hated he had the nerve to be there, in my place, especially with the way his presence made my body react on sight. I didn’t know what it was about him or what he was up to, but he didn’t sit right with me.

  As I got closer to him, I noticed he had an apple in one hand and a knife in the other. Pocketknives weren’t uncommon; Grandad had a swiss army knife, and so had my dad and Fred. But to have one a few feet away from the police station was risky. I hoped PC Williams would spot him and he’d be arrested. Then hopefully, he’d be removed from our town where he didn’t belong.

  I crossed the road and leant against a lamppost outside the library to wait. People walked past, and I tried to watch them properly instead of watching their reflections as I usually did. It wasn’t easy. My eyes would keep drifting back to the library’s windows, fearful someone would turn and look me in the eye. But I also wanted to keep an eye on The Suit and see him get hauled away by the Police.

  I used to come to the library a lot when I was younger to get books on watches, though they didn’t have many. However, I would still come week after week to see if they had anything new on the topic. They seemed to cater to older ladies more than anyone else, from all the books bearing men with their shirts open and women in their arms.

  I went straight to the index cards listing the numbers of the Dewey Decimal System. An old librarian had taught me how to use them, and it wasn’t long before I located the number I needed and off I went to look in that section of the library.

  There weren’t many books available, only a small handful. They looked brand new, as though only a couple of people had borrowed them. I took two I liked the covers of and went to the desk to check them out.

  I placed them on the counter along with my library card and rang the brass bell for the assistant’s attention. I kept my eyes firmly on the desk as she appeared. I expected her to ask me questions about the books I’d selected, but she barely noticed the titles as she stamped in the return date.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said as she slid the books back over to me and grunted.

  I paused as I exited and scanned the street left and right just to be certain The Suit was nowhere to be seen. A half-eaten apple was the only evidence he’d been sat there. Happy I’d managed to get the books without incident and he had vanished once again, I almost skipped to my favourite bench to get in place, ready to look for The One.

  As I hurried along, the familiar ring of Tab Hunter’s pushbike bell ding-dinged behind me. Tab Hunter wasn’t the man’s real name. I didn’t think anyone knew his true name. I’d never see anyone talk to him at all, actually. I just knew that’s what everyone called him due to his peculiar habit of picking up cigarette ends. And that wasn’t the only peculiar thing about Tab Hunter. As his brown trousers rose with each pedal, the whole world could see that he wore ladies’ stockings underneath his trousers.

  When I found my usual place, I traced my hands over the rough surface of the bench and noticed a new carving on one of the slats which said, “Craig woz ’ere.” I had no idea who Craig was. Most of the people’s names written here had blank faces to me, though it was possible I could have followed half of them.

  I sat watching and waiting but nothing was biting, so eventually, I took myself for a slow walk to Woolworths. I passed the outside market (it wasn’t on today) and weaved in and out of the empty stalls.

  Next door to Woolworths stood a shoe shop; it was old-fashioned and family-run, and they looked to be having a sale on. I looked in the window; they sold slip-on shoes, black-leather moccasins, and sandals. In the next town, which was much bigger than ours, they had a Ribena shoe shop, which was a chain. There, they had Union Jack Doc Martins, studded punk-rock boots, bowling shoes, and Pods.

  For my twenty-first birthday, I’d asked for some blue Pods. I’d seen them in a window when I visited with Tina. When I opened my gift, Mum had got me blue Tracks instead. They were cheaper than Pods and didn’t look that dissimilar. Anyway, they were comfortable enough, so I couldn’t complain. But I would buy some Pods at some point, I would make sure of it.

  I went into Woolworths and selected two small mirrors; I didn’t take as much care as I normally would when I picked them out. I had better things to do today. I carried them to the counter with my books placed on top to balance everything.

  ‘Alright, John-Michael?’ said Mavis. I’d got to know most of the women who worked here. Mavis was one of the older members of staff. If I had to guess, I would say she was about fifty. I never asked, though. Grandad told me it was extremely rude to ask a lady h
er age.

  ‘Morning, Mavis,’ I said using the mirrors to look up at her smiling face.

  She frowned down at them.

  ‘Ooh, John-Michael, these aren’t our best mirrors, are you sure you don’t want to have another look?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m busy today. Thank you, no, it’s okay. Haven’t got much time to browse,’ I told her reflection.

  ‘Okay, if you’re sure. I know how much you love your mirrors. And what else have you got here?’ she said, looking at the books now.

  ‘My sister is having a baby, so I borrowed these from the library,’ I said as I retrieved them and tucked them under my armpit.

  ‘Aww, isn’t that grand, a new baby. How lovely. Well, let me ring these up for you.’

  As she gave me my receipt, she said, ‘You ain’t gonna be able to carry these and them mirrors. Give us them books; I’ll put them in a carrier bag for you.’

  ‘Oh, umm… Thank you.’ I handed them over, and she passed them back to me in the bag, so I was able to hold the two mirrors under one arm and carry the bag with my free hand to sit back at my favourite bench.

  *

  Time ebbed away rapidly, and it was looking more than likely I would have to choose someone to follow at random, or just go home. At one o’clock, my watch beeped. I scanned around to look for a man, any man.

  My eyes were drawn to the reflection of a young man swaggering by; he had a skinhead, wore a polo shirt but no jacket despite the mild weather, braces, jeans, and oxblood Doc Martins with yellow laces. His jeans were rolled up over his boots, and you could see the tops of his white socks. I debated rolling mine up, too, but decided against it. I’d look stupid with the shoes I had on.

  I took a deep breath and left the bench. I almost had to run to catch up with him; his legs moved fast, as though he was already being followed by someone and was trying to get away.

  I tried not to use reflections as much as I had in the past. Instead, I concentrated on a small cross tattooed on the back of his neck. He had various other tattoos down the backs of his arms, including a love heart with an arrow through it and a coat of armour.

  I tracked him at a steady pace, though not easily. I had never followed anyone who walked as fast as he did or swung their arms about from side to side so viciously. We didn’t have many skinheads in town; however, I had seen a whole horde of them in Doncaster, hanging around the big shopping centre, smoking, and mouthing off at people. The women’s heads were shaved, too, but they kept a fringe at the front with long strands of hair over their ears and long from the napes of their necks down. I had no idea what the style was meant to represent.

  I followed him until he went into the record shop. Normally, I wouldn’t follow someone into a shop. Instead, I would linger outside, pretending to browse the items in the window until they either came out or someone else caught my eye. This time, I decided I may as well go in. I had nothing to lose.

  Downstairs was a stationary shop and upstairs was the record shop. The stairs were to the left as you walked in; I heard him stomping his boots on them. The woman behind the counter muttered “Unbelievable…” and shook her head.

  I climbed the stairs when I could no longer hear his footsteps pounding their way up. When I reached the top, I saw the owner stood behind the counter facing the records, which were set in such a way he could see if anyone was trying to steal one. He wore a flowered shirt and a flat cap; an odd combination.

  I scanned the shop left and right to see where The Skinhead had gone. He was stood to my left at the end of the aisle where the S’s were, most likely browsing the Ska records. I wouldn’t have thought him a lover of swing or soul. I walked the long way round to look at the records opposite him which were the end of the R’s.

  As I strolled around, I glanced up at the walls to view all the posters dotted about which I hadn’t looked at before. A poster of a red Ferrari caught my eye. Pinned next to it was a chart poster for the week, plus numerous others of bands such as Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet. I’d only seen them before in Smash Hits and NME.

  I arrived opposite The Skinhead, though I didn’t sneak a peek. I wasn’t ready for the next step yet, and there was nothing reflective around to glance at him with.

  I could hear him flicking through the sleeves, then every so often he would pick one out. I set my carrier bag down between my feet and copied his actions, flicking through my own section, and when he picked one out, I did too. After I put the third record back, I carried on pretending to scan through them, but The Skinhead didn’t make a sound.

  ‘Oi, weirdo.’

  I stopped. I knew he was talking to me. Who else would he be saying that to? I grabbed my bag, gripping it tightly, and repositioned the mirrors with my other arm as I shuffled down towards the P’s, ignoring him.

  ‘Oi, ya weirdo. Why won’t you look at me?’ he asked.

  I had to leave, and sharpish. I couldn’t go back the way I came round the stacks; it would take too long. There was nothing I could do except run past him.

  I didn’t look at him or the shop owner as I moved, but I sensed the heat from The Skinhead’s eyes burning into me as I dashed past him to the foot of the stairs. I went down two at a time and exited the shop.

  That was a close one, I told myself as I walked down the street, swinging my bag to calm my nerves. It had been a disaster, and I missed looking in reflections; without them, I lost what was going on around me. That had been the whole reason I never followed anyone into places. There were no guarantees of any reflective surfaces or mirrors for me to use.

  I hurried along, keeping a keen eye on the reflections as I walked. I thought I heard footsteps approaching behind me, but I didn’t dare look over my shoulder for fear of my eyes meeting another’s. It was difficult to see anything in the shop windows to my right.

  PC Williams’s warning came alive in my head: ‘You know, if you end up following any of them ruffians and they spot you, you’ll be in for a kicking.’

  The footsteps got louder and nearer. I never expected the constable to be right. I’d always tried to be so careful, and I’d taken a massive risk today, all because of the happiness that I’d let seep into my soul.

  An incredible force struck the middle of my back. I went sprawling onto the pavement, and the mirrors under my arm smashed, sending shards everywhere. I lost the grip on my bag as The Skinhead started kicking me. I curled into a ball, covered my head with my arms, and waited. It couldn’t have lasted more than ten seconds, as people started yelling around me. He only managed to get three decent kicks in.

  ‘Don’t let me catch you near me again, ya weirdo,’ he snarled, then spat. Thankfully, it didn’t land on me. I peeked out through my fingers, spying his back retreating through the crowd that had gathered.

  ‘You alright?’ a man’s voice said. I ignored him. I had to get my books back.

  A hand touched me, and I flinched.

  ‘Take it easy,’ a woman said.

  People tried to talk to me. I wanted them to leave me alone. I pushed myself into a sitting position with my knees pulled up towards my chin and my head tucked between them. I clasped my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes closed, praying they would go away.

  ‘Arr, leave him,’ a man’s muffled voice said. ‘He’s that weird Chester boy.’

  After a few minutes, the crowd dispersed, leaving only a couple of people lingering about.

  ‘Where are they?’ I whispered.

  ‘They what, lad?’ a man said.

  ‘My books. Where are they?!’ I started to shout.

  ‘Calm down, son, they can’t have gone far,’ he said.

  I crawled about on my hands and knees despite the glass covering the pavement until I found the bag in the gutter. I scooped it up and scrambled to my feet to run off in the opposite direction as fast as my legs would take me. I didn’t stop until I reached the park. The fact I could run told me he couldn’t have done much damage.

  I ran around the duck pond towards th
e back of the park. I stopped at a bench and sat down to wipe the dust and glass shards from my jeans, placing the books safe next to me. My breathing came thick and fast, and sweat trickled down my face. I swiped my forehead with the back of my hand to wipe it away, but when I brought it down, it was smeared with blood, not sweat. He must have caught my head with the edge of his boot.

  I took out my small cigarette case with the mirror in so I could locate the wound and dabbed at it with the back of my jacket sleeve. It was only a nick, but I put a plaster on it, anyway.

  He’d got in a couple of good kicks to my ribs, though I doubted any were broken. At least I had no marks on my face.

  Someone cleared their throat behind me. I froze for a second, thinking The Skinhead had come back for round two. I lifted the mirror in front of me. WPC Thompson was stood behind me in uniform, her arms folded across her chest.

  ‘What’s going on, John-Michael? I’ve just seen you running through the park like a banger’s been shot up your arse,’ she said.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing’s going on. I’m only sitting here,’ I said breathlessly.

  She stepped closer so I could no longer see her face in the mirror. ‘Well, what’s that, then?’ she asked. I could feel her peering over me. ‘Blood?’

  ‘Umm… I tripped,’ I told her; it was technically not a lie. I had fallen onto the pavement when he shoved me.

  She snorted. ‘Yeah, likely story.’

  I used my mirror to look for her colleague. She appeared to be on the beat alone again. I was beginning to think that this supposed partner of the constable was a figment of everyone’s imagination.

  ‘I thought women weren’t allowed to patrol on their own?’ I said.

  ‘We’re not, but I can take care of myself,’ she said, sitting down next to me. ‘He’s off…buying cigs. And don’t change the subject.’

  ‘Fine,’ I sighed.

  ‘Women aren’t delicate flowers that need looking after, you know. PC Williams is… old school. He believes a woman should be barefoot and pregnant. It’s taken him a while to get used to women no longer being segregated. Anyway, I can take care of myself when I need to. I’ll tell you a story about me, John, if you like? Can I call you John?’ she asked.