I Keep Thinking It's Tuesday

by BarnaWilde

  "Yes, people do some thoughtless things at times."

  "I meant the elephant. I wonder why they didn't give it artificial respiration?"

  CHAPTER 4

  I lie in bed thinking about the elephant. The one who suffocated on ping pong balls. Why didn't it breathe through it's mouth? Elephants must be able to breathe through their mouths. They must get colds sometimes. Somehow it all seems very unsatisfactory. The newspaper must have got it wrong. Can no one be trusted?

  Gail lies beside me in the bed. She is asleep. She is lying on her front, and I can just see the hump of her backside in the dim light. I lie on my back and peer up at the ceiling. I used to trust her once, but she let me down.

  As she breathes the duvet rises and falls gently. The light from the display on the bedside radio alarm casts a soft shadow of her breathing onto the bedroom wall. It looks like the sea. I hold out my arm and it, too, casts a shadow on the wall.

  When I was a small boy I used to make shadows on the wall with my hands. I could make animals and birds, and faces of dwarves and deformed men. I haven't done it for years. I make a face with my right hand. The light is not bright, but I can just make out the shape on the wall. My thumb makes the chin, and my second finger makes the nose. The sea continues to heave gently in time with Gail's breathing. I try to make a ship sailing on the sea, but with one hand it doesn't really work. I try to make a man drowning in the sea, and this is quite promising.

  I prop myself up on one elbow and bring the other hand into play. Now my drowning man has two arms which wave as he goes under. I'd forgotten I could do this. "Help! Help!" the drowning man calls in a reedy little voice. Gail turns over and suddenly the sea is a heaving tempest. The little man goes under. "Help," he calls for the last time.

  "What are you doing?" asks Gail. "What time is it? ..... Good grief it's two o'clock. Can't you lie still?"

  "Sorry. I couldn't sleep."

  As the sea settles down again. I can't resist making a one handed bird flying up towards the heavens.

  "Tom! Go to sleep."

  I must remember to buy an Exchange and Mart on the way in to work tomorrow.

  ****

  I arrive at the office before everybody else in the morning, and turn on the lights and disable the alarm. I have already made the first coffee of the day when Julie arrives.

  She really is quite a cracker. I think I'll move her up to a nine point five. She smiles and blows me a kiss as she walks past my desk. She smells of something divine. I wonder if she put it on for me? Perhaps she fancies me. Yes, I reckon she could. She didn't have to walk that close to my desk, and she's always making coffee for me, and then there's the kiss she blew me. Yes, it must be that.

  I watch her remove her coat. She has a gorgeous figure. Her long dark hair drops over her shoulders. Today she is wearing a skirt below the knee, but slit almost up to mid thigh. As she looks at her reflection in the mirror she catches sight of me watching her and smiles back. Yes, I'm almost certain.

  How do I make sure? I mustn't make a fool of myself. Perhaps I should just walk boldly over and kiss her. What would Bond do?

  Bond wouldn't have to do anything. She'd have her clothes off by now if I were Bond. He wouldn't have to do more than flick an eyebrow.

  I sit, rooted to my desk, my right eyebrow going up and down like a yo yo. It isn't as easy as it looks. When I try to move just the right brow the left one moves too. I obviously need to practice.

  I become aware that Julie is standing just in front of the desk looking at me with concern. "Is there something in your eye, Mr F?"

  "Uh, No. No thanks Julie. Just trying out my eyebrows."

  "You are funny Mr F. I do like you. You aren't like the others."

  She likes me! She probably means 'loves'. Just too embarrassed to say it.

  "I like you, too," I say. "And by the way, you can call me Bond."

  "Bond? Mr F. I thought your name was Tom."

  "Bond? Did I say Bond? I must have been thinking of someone else. I meant Tom." Go on, kiss her. While the office is empty. Be bold. Just stand up and sweep her off her feet. She's asking for it. Look at her, lips pouting. Breasts thrust forward. She can't wait.

  I start to climb out of my chair as the door opens and Mr Hudson strides in. "Good morning all," he booms. "Good to see you in on time today Fletcher."

  "And you," I reply.

  He turns to regard me over his spectacles.

  "Good to see you, I mean. Yes. Good morning Mr Hudson. Would you like some coffee?"

  ****

  The carpet offcut was only just big enough to cover the floor of Geoffrey's den, but it's thick pile was exactly right. It added just the degree of luxury he was looking for. It would also muffle any sound. He had also fitted three lights and fixed two large mirrors to the end wall. He would have preferred a single floor to ceiling mirror, but, quite apart from the expense, he would not have been able to get it through the trap door. He made a short mental inventory of the things he still required before climbing down and closing the loft away behind him.

  ****

  Julie is typing across the other side of the office. Each time she catches sight of me watching her she gives me a smile. I can just see the top of her legs around the end of her desk. As she moves, the slit in her skirt opens and closes tantalisingly.

  I remember the Exchange and Mart in my briefcase and slide it out surreptitiously. I slip it into a folder so that no one will see what I'm reading. I start to whistle nonchalently. Everyone looks up simultaneously at the sound of the whistling. I fall silent again and they go back to their own work.

  I'm not sure where guns would be. Not in the motoring section for sure, but would they be under domestic, leisure, craft, industrial, hobbies or what?

  I decide to look under miscellaneous. While I am looking for the page I get distracted by items in other sections. Who invents all these things?

  On one page is a device for squeezing teabags. Someone, somewhere sat down one day and invented a tea bag squeezer. Can you believe that?

  "I know I'll invent the teabag squeezer. Just what the world has been waiting for. Everyone will want one. It'll make my fortune."

  And having invented it, he's actually found someone to manufacture it and now he's advertising it in a full display advert. How much demand can there be for a tea bag squeezer? I don't know anyone who has one. Or perhaps lots of people have them, but they don't bring them out when they have guests in case it looks too mean.

  "I bet you all use tea bag squeezers," I say to no one in particular. They all look up at me briefly. "Just thinking out loud," I say. "Didn't mean to disturb you."

  There are some knowing looks before they get back down to whatever it is they are doing. Julie smiles at me.

  I flick on through the magazine. Giant slippers that you can put both feet in together. I have a vision of people hopping to open the front door when they have visitors, wearing their giant slipper. Or maybe buying two and having to walk with legs astride. There is an inflatable coat hanger for taking on holiday with you. A thing for the car that enables you to pee while you are driving. So that you don't have to stop. 'Invaluable' it says. 'Fits either sex'. How? Do you have to have it permanently attached? Do you fit it before you get into the car? What happens if you have passengers? Do you have one each or just a lot of pipes? Or do you pass it around? What happens if you forget to take it off when you get out of the car?

  Why are there no answers to these questions?

  It says 'thousands sold'. To whom? Is that why all those people driving the big fast cars on the motorway look so smug? Are they all driving along at one hundred miles an hour peeing as they go? While the rest of us try to drive with our legs crossed. Or does everybody have one apart from me? Is it the kind of thing that everyone else knows instinctively except me, because I'm not suave?

  I always find that reading Exchange and Mart makes me depressed. I feel so inadequate.

  Listen. Per
haps you think I'm paranoid. I'm not paranoid. Things have not gone well for me recently, that's all. I just need to strike out in a new direction. Explore new opportunities. Make some decisions. Kill my wife. Things like that.

  I thumb on through the Exchange and Mart. Not a gun to be seen, but I come across a double page spread of ads featuring drawings of scantily clad women. 'Free suspender set' it says under one, 'if you send for our exotic glamourwear catalogue. Send one pound ninety five postage and packing. Glamour set comprises suspender belt, stockings and see through crotchless panties trimmed in black lace simulation. One size fits all'.

  Another ad says 'Parlour maid outfit, skirt, pinny, stockings, suspenders. This is a quality item. No rubbish. Sent under plain wrapper. Four pound ninety nine plus one ninety nine postage'. There is a picture of a parlour maid wearing such a short skirt that it doesn't cover her knickers.

  There are dozens of adverts along the same lines. I read on, fascinated by the variety and ingenuity of the advertisers.

  'Ladies, turn on the man in your life. Surprise him with this peephole bra and microbrief set.' I wonder if Gail would like to surprise me? Perhaps if I ordered it in her name?

  Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex.

  Everything comes down to sex in the end. Even Exchange and Mart.

  "I'll have a Radio Times and a copy of Exchange and Mart, please."

  "Say no more, Guv. Say no more. Know what I mean."

  "You don't understand. I'm looking for some plumbing fittings."

  "I'll put it in a plain wrapper for you, Guv. Alright?"

  "Yes. Yes that'll be fine. Thankyou."

  "Plumbing fittings? First time I've heard it called that. Mind how you go, Guv. Know what I mean? Nudge, Nudge."

  I become conscious of the telephone on my desk ringing. I am dimly aware that it may have been ringing for some time. All eyes in the office are on me. Wondering why I'm not answering.

  "Plumbing fittings," I say to the room as I pick up the receiver. "Not underwear. I didn't even know the underwear was in there. I don't even know what a peephole bra is."

  A voice in my ear says "I can show you if you'd like that Mr Fletcher."

  It's a woman's voice. A soft, sultry voice. I know that voice.

  "H..Hudson, H..Hudson, and Hudson," I reply. "Show me what? To whom am I speaking?"

  "Why Tom, surely you can't have forgotten me already?"

  "Mrs Carrol!"

  "Just Carole, Tom. You must call me Carole. After all, we are friends."

  "What do you want?"

  "Why, Tom, surely that's no way to talk to a client. This is a business call after all."

  The other members of the office are still looking at me. Even Julie has stopped typing.

  "A client," I say. "She just wants a valuation. Just calling to tell me about my tape measure I expect. Not about sex at all."

  "Tom, you aren't paying attention to me are you? I can hear you talking to someone else. Is it another woman? Are you trying to make me jealous? I think you are."

  "N..No. There isn't another woman. I'm not talking to anyone. Just myself. Yes, just talking to myself that's all. Dictating. Yes, dictating."

  "I've got your measure, Tom. Did you leave it here on purpose? Is it just an excuse to come back? You don't need an excuse, Tom. You can come anytime."

  The other office members are still watching me.

  "Ha. I left my tape at her house. That's what it's about," I say to them. "Didn't even know I'd lost it. There's a funny thing. Never lost my tape before. It must have been the drink. Not that I was drinking you understand. Well tea. Yes tea. I must have put it down when I spilt my tea. Not sex at all really, you see."

  "Tom, when are you coming with my valuation?"

  "I..I'm going to post it. Normal practice is to post it. Be there tomorrow."

  "But Tom. I have things to show you. You left so quickly yesterday that you didn't get time to see everything. And your measure, surely you'll need it. Why don't you call around again this afternoon? We can have another little talk."

  "Too busy I'm afraid. Lots of appointments. Gosh, yes, I don't know how I'll fit them all in. Better if I write. That's the usual method. Writing."

  "But, your measure, Tom. How will you manage?"

  "Oh. Ten a penny those measures. Yes, they look expensive but really they're very cheap. We give them away. All the time. In fact I usually leave one at most of my clients. Yes, keep it. Plenty more where that came from."

  "Tom. I think you're trying to avoid me."

  "N..No. Gosh, no. Avoid you? Why would I do that? Be pleased to see you again any time. Yes. No problem. What about next week?"

  "Tom, I shall expect you this afternoon. About three. I'll prepare a little treat for you. OK? I won't take no for an answer now."

  "Yes, of course. I mean No. I mean I'll see whether it's possible to rearrange the schedule. It probably won't be. All computerised you know. Set up weeks in advance. Takes days to reprogram. Mr Hudson was only saying this morning how much he regretted buying the computer. Taken all the flexibilty out of the system."

  "Three o'clock, Tom. I'll be waiting."

  I see that my colleagues are still watching me. They have been avidly following the entire conversation. Or at least my end of it. The phone goes dead. I smile vacuously and start waving my free hand in the air as though I am still talking to someone at the other end.

  "I would recommend putting it on the market at around one sixty five, and be prepared to accept an offer around one sixty."

  They aren't fooled, and immediately get back to their own jobs.

  "Thank you for giving your business to Hudson, Hudson and Hudson," I say to the dead phone. "Our aim is to serve you."

  I replace the phone. Why do I always feel inadequate? Why is life so intimidating? All I want is a quiet life and someone to love. Someone to love me. I look over towards Julie. She smiles back. Yes, I think she could be the one. I definitely think she's interested. But how do I go about it? That's all.

  At lunch time I walk into the town. I'm beginning to think that a gun may not be the right thing after all. Difficult to make it look like an accident. And I might miss. Just end up wounding her. Might even wound myself. Maybe that's the answer? Shoot myself first. Just a bit, not too seriously, you understand and then shoot her afterwards. Pretend that I arrived too late to save her when she was attacked by a crazed gunman. Would need to wipe off the finger prints though.

  I wonder where would be the best place to do it. So it wouldn't hurt. When I shoot myself I mean. In the leg maybe, or the arm? I start to imagine being shot in the leg. I reel violently and clutch my left thigh, knocking against a woman carrying her shopping.

  "Aaah!" I cry out. "My leg. My leg. I've been shot."

  She drops her shopping and grabs my arm. "I didn't hear nothing," she says. "Are you alright? Can you walk? Who done it?"

  I come to with a woman trying to undo my trousers. "What are you doing?" I ask.

  "Which leg?" she says. "Which leg? I used to be a nurse."

  I pull myself away and move off briskly down the street, remembering to limp until I get clear enough to run.

  Maybe a gun isn't the best idea.

  CHAPTER 5

  On my way home I stop to buy flowers for Gail. I like to buy her flowers. I get chrysanthemums. A sort of russet colour. I think she'll like them.

  Listen. Maybe you're confused. Maybe you wonder why I'm buying flowers for her and guns. Maybe you think this is all part of some elaborate alibi. No. It's much more simple than that. I love her. That's why I have to kill her.

  Listen. You can't expect to understand everything straight away. It took me a long time too. But I got there in the end.

  I keep thinking about that elephant. The one with the ping pong balls. The one that suffocated. Why didn't it just blow them out? One good sneeze and they'd have come out at ninety miles an hour. Probably kill someone if they got in the way. The elephant could have stuck i
t's trunk out through the bars of it's cage and shot the first person that walked by.

  "Crazed elephant slays keeper." I can see the headline. Then endless speculation on the TV and radio about the motive, and where it got the idea or the ammunition. And debates in parliament again about bringing back the death penalty.

  I wonder how you would hang an elephant? How would you get the noose over it's head? And what would you do if it wouldn't stand on the trapdoor? You know, if it splayed it's legs out wide. Or if it wrapped it's trunk around the hangman and wouldn't let go. I suppose you could always tie it's trunk in a knot. But they don't really have necks, do they? This worries me. Does it worry you? Am I the only person who thinks about these things? Or perhaps the animal rights people would kick up such a stink that it would get off with a life sentence, or even probation I shouldn't wonder.

  Gail and I haven't been to the zoo for ages. Not for years. Maybe we could go this weekend. I stop on the way back to the car and buy a box of ping pong balls. Bound to come in useful sometime.

  ****

  Geoffrey finished assembling the drawer unit and pushed it into position against the end wall. He had had to make it in situ because it wouldn’t go through the trap door in one piece. The rail was already fitted, and the red curtain gave a warm glow to the little room. He manoeuvred the chair through the opening with some difficulty, and admired the general effect. It was about complete, and he was well pleased with the overall appearance. He rubbed his hands together in quiet satisfaction before turning out the light and locking the door behind him.

  ****

  When I get home Gail is already there. She has not been home long and is still wearing her outdoor coat.

  "Hello," she says. "Are those for me?"

  She takes the flowers and gives me a peck on the cheek. "What a nice colour," she adds. "Thankyou."

  "I thought you'd like them," I reply. There doesn't seem to be much else to say. "You look tired," she says. "Have you had a hard day?"

  "One or two difficult clients," I say. The image of Carole comes into my mind.

  "Difficult? How?"

  "Oh, nothing really. Just awkward. I wondered if you wanted to go to the zoo on Saturday?"