To [email protected]
Subject: RE: Emailing mummy
Dad, love you. Hope you’re OK. I’m still coming home. Meet me at the airport? I’ll mail you the flight number and times and stuff. Love you, OK?
P.S. ‘Bessy’...you sound like Mum. Made me laugh. And cry, too. Sorry. Love you. Coming home anyway. See you soon.
Charlie.
Dear Diary,
Charlie says she’s coming home. It’s good, but a shame. None of this is Charlie’s fault. She’ll stick her oar in. She has to. It’s her mother I’ve had committed. I’ll have to do something about it. It’s not her fault, but I can’t lose now.
Signed, Gertie
April 27th 2005
*
This story, The Monkey's Sandwich, was accepted by Twisted Library Press (they published my first novel, Rain). It fell through, but I still have the cover art. The project was canned, but I still have the rights to the story. Here it is. It's a beauty. It's got monkeys in it. Can't go wrong with monkeys, right?
The Monkey’s Sandwich
I want to tell you a story. It’s not a long story, so don’t go getting all comfortable, or wandering off to get yourself a cup of tea. You might have time for a biscuit or two, but I wouldn’t count on the appetite, not for some time to come. I’ve lost a few pounds since that night with Dave, and more than a few nights sleep.
What nights I do have, I don’t sleep too well. Sometimes I wake up laughing. Can’t sleep for laughing, it seems. Not like the good laughter, the chuckles that makes you warm and brings tears of joy to your eyes, like a baby can do when it giggles at a game of peek-a-boo, or the first time your son cracks a funny, or even farts righteously and forgets his pardons.
No, this ain’t that kind of laughter. This is the kind that makes your head ache, the kind that turns your wife over in her sleep to see if you’ve gone crazy. The kind that’s one step away from a scream.
It brings tears to my eyes, alright.
*
‘You want another cuppa, Bill?’
‘Yeah, and a biscuit,’ I said in a tone that brooked no argument.
‘You don’t want no biscuits.’ My brook-no-argument voice wasn’t working these days. Like so much of me. Seems you get on in years and people don’t take you seriously no more.
‘I know what I want, damn it. Don’t you start listening to my wife.’
‘You’ve got high cholesterol, an’ biscuits are little heart attacks with a creamy filling.’
‘And so what? I know my own mind, and it don’t care if it’s got a stroke sneaking up on it. All I want is a biscuit.’ I let that sink in, then hit him with the kicker. ‘Good for me piles, anyway. Biscuits’ve got roughage,’ I knew that’d tug on his old heartstrings. Men know about piles.
‘Bran flakes’ve got roughage.’
‘Play me arse up.’ He was a tough nut to crack. I resorted to the old classics.
‘Just get me a bloody biscuit,’ I crossed my arms. I was getting just about fed up of Daisy poking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted.
‘Daisy sez…’
‘If I wanted to listen to my wife I’d be working days and eating lettuce. Biscuit,’ I said, flapping my hand in a dismissive gesture. That, at least, I had down pat.
‘Alright, alright. Jesus, you’re tetchy tonight.’
I was, too. I’d had the doctor’s thumb up my arse tickling my prostate the day before, and I was still sitting sore. Man’s got no right, sticking his thumb up another man’s arse. Don’t mind queers, don’t get me wrong. Cocks, far as I can see, that’s another matter. Thumbs…well, I swear he hadn’t cut his nails for a fortnight, and them buggers was long.
I didn’t tell Dave that, though.
Might be he could talk to my wife, give me a hard time about a biscuit and bacon, even stingy up on my sugar – he thinks I don’t notice how my tea’s got bitter ever since my last blood test – but I ain’t talking to him about having old sausage fingers Dr Bains probing my prostate.
I put my feet up on the counter. I couldn’t see the monitor anymore, but what did I care? It was tea break time. Management’s apt to forget we’re entitled to a break, now and again. They don’t need to know just how often.
‘Just make sure I get my full four. And my biscuits.’
‘I’m not giving you a biscuit.’
I was getting riled now. Dave ignored me.
Pretty astute, sometimes, is Dave. I twiddled my thumbs and took deep breaths. It was supposed to calm me down.
The monitor blinked behind my feet, and a light flashed. It’s an old building. If I got up for every flashing light I’d give myself another heart attack. Myocardial Infarction, they called it. I remember the surgeon, or specialist, or whatever it was that they called themselves these days, talking to me like I’d know what he was on about. Dr Bains was a little more personable, when I went to see him. Sometimes a little too personable. But he nagged worse than Daisy, and he’s got fat, sharp thumbs.
Dave came back, bearing two teas in one hand, and in the other, one lousy biscuit.
‘What’s that?’ I said.
‘What’s it look like? It’s a biscuit. I got you a biscuit. Don’t go all soft on me. You asked me for a biscuit. Your head playing up as well as your ticka?’
‘Don’t be a smart-arse. That’s one biscuit. It’s two o’clock. I’m due two biscuits. You know the rules.’
‘Don’t give a shit, me. I fly by the seat of my pants. I’m subtracting one from your hourly biscuits.’
‘I’ll get my own bloody biscuits then.’
I got up in a mild huff, went out to the kitchen, and brought the biscuits back. Dave gave me a look, but I’m pretty much inured to his looks. If I can survive Daisy’s disdain, I can live with Dave’s disappointment.
I sat back with a satisfied groan and a small popping noise from my left knee.
On the screen, I caught a rhesus out the corner of my eye, got a bit distracted. It was pulling on the bars of its cage, going nuts. I watched it for a moment. Wasn’t too unusual, though, so I didn’t give it my all. I turned back to the offending biscuit, now sitting on the counter by my feet, next to my cup of tea, which no doubt was shy by more than a few grains of sugar.
‘That’s my wily plan, you see. I get you to get your own biscuits, then you get some exercise, too. Win, win.’
‘Bollocks. I’ll just help myself to an extra biscuit, maybe even two. To make up for the loss of calories.’
‘Since when did you know what a calorie was?’
‘Since forever,’ I lied, felt bad about it, and then made a clean breast of things. Sometimes it’s amazing how busy your conscience can be in the blink of an eye. ‘Daisy bought me a magazine with stuff in it,’ I told him. ‘I think she’s gone a bit too far on this health malarkey.’
‘What, weight watchers?’
‘No, it’s Men’s Health,’ I muttered.
‘What’s that?’
Reluctantly, I got it out of my overnight bag, in which I kept a fresh pair of socks (Daisy says I’ve got feet as smelly as a ten-year old Border Terrier’s crotch), last month’s Complete Angler, and a new addition, Men’s Health.
Dave took a long appraising look at the cover. There was a large picture of the top half of a man on the front. He weren’t wearing a shirt. He looked like one of them strippers. If it had been a sportsman, a boxer, say, I might’ve got away with it.
I longed for the days I’d been single. The worst to come out of my bag would have been a scud mag. Nothing embarrassing about that.
Men in the nuddy, though. I was ashamed to admit it, I felt like a right nancy.
Dave, to his credit, merely raised his eyebrows. It might have been the fierce look lurking under my stern frown that gave him pause for thought, before he took the piss.
He handed it back.
‘No tits in it?’
‘Just the pansy models. It’s got some good stuff in it, though. ‘Bout how to flat
ten your stomach…’ I caught myself in time.
‘Been pumping iron, then, have you?’
Suddenly I was glad I’d keep quiet about Dr Bains and his roving thumb.
‘Daisy bought it for me. Said it would help me get in shape. There’s stuff about vitamins, you know, and there’s this one fella wrote in with a gammy knee. Sounded just like mine. Interesting, it was.’ I was rambling. I turned my face away. I was going a bit red around the cheeks. Just like when Dr Bains grabbed my arse, I thought ruefully. It didn’t raise a grin though.
Hadn’t raised anything else, either, to my credit.
‘Bit of a worry. She’s not, you know, put out for a while…now she’s buying me mags with nuddy men in it…I just don’t know…’
That’s the thing about blokes, Daisy don’t understand it, but there’s things you can share with a bloke you can’t share with a woman, even if she is your wife. Sometimes because she’s your wife.
‘Might be she’s just worried about the ticka. Probably thinks she’s doing you a favour. Don’t read too much into it. Nah, scrap that, stick to reading that. Just reading, mind. I wouldn’t recommend looking too long and hard at the pictures, if you know what I mean.’ He handed me the mag back, face all sweet innocence.
Sometimes there’s things you can talk about with blokes, other things you wish you’d just bloody well kept to yourself.
‘Just don’t say another word,’ I said, and took my feet off the counter to watch the monkeys.
‘Look at ‘em. Going nuts. Makes you wonder, sometimes, what they do to ‘em. They don’t look happy.’
Dave leaned over to take a look. There was another monkey jumping up and down, now. The two of them were really going for it. I found myself hoping they made those cages out of sturdy steel. I didn’t fancy trying to round up an insane monkey for the rest of the night.
‘Going apeshit,’ he said with a grin, nudging me.
‘Hilarious,’ I said, groaning. ‘I ain’t seen ‘em like that before.’
‘They can’t get out. Those cages are solid steel.’
‘Pretty strong, from what I hear, monkeys. Spend all day climbing about, jumping from tree to tree.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Dave, but I could tell he a little bit worried, too, ‘those monkey have never seen a tree. Not even on telly.’
‘Watch much telly do they?’
‘Nah, short sighted, monkeys. Can see their own noses, an’ that’s about it.’
We laughed, and turned away from the monitor. I checked the outside monitors and the corridor TV’s, just because I’m diligent. Nothing to report.
‘Fancy a game of Royal Houses? Joker’s rules?’
‘Why not?’ I said, and swung my feet to the floor. ‘I’ll get the cards.’
I took my tea with me, going to the stationery cupboard. I rummaged around on top, where the cleaners never went. Don’t ask me why we had a stationery cupboard. We needed a pen, to fill out the Incident Report Sheets – sometimes we got animal rights loonies climbing the fence outside, or spray painting the gates. Didn’t cause too much trouble, mind, and we never had to deal with them. Just call the old bill, and they soon ran off. Had to fill out the form, though, and talk to the police. They had just as many forms to fill in as we did. Pretty much the same job, I suppose, making sure the monkeys stayed in cages.
I took the cards back to the counter and shuffled while Dave gulped the rest of his tea down. When I was done, I gave them to him to deal, and took a sip of my tepid brew. A whole sugar short this time, by my reckoning.
He put down first, straight from his hand. A king, queen and jack.
I took a card from the pack, and was still left with shit. I put a two of clubs down.
Pretty soon, we were lost in the world of Royal Houses, me swearing, Dave being a poor winner, as usual. I’d taken to shuffling, mainly because I didn’t trust him. I could have sworn he was cheating, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how he did it.
I happened to glance at the screen. I felt my heart lurch and for a moment thought, ‘oh, shit, infirmary here I come…’
The cages were empty.
‘Dave,’ I said urgently. ‘They’re gone.’
‘What?’
I pointed at the lab monitor. ‘They’re gone.’ I wasn’t panicking, not too much. Ordinarily, a monkey escaping from a cage, no sweat. It was what I saw on the monitor that was making me queasy.
‘Fuck,’ said Dave, echoing my thoughts. He leaned in for a closer look. ‘What the fuck is that?’ he said, pointing, unnecessarily.
‘They pulled the cages apart.’ To my credit, my voice wasn’t shaking. Not yet.
‘What’ve they been giving those monkeys? They can’t pull apart steel.’
‘Apparently, they can.’
The monitor was black and white, which was a bit cheap considering the technology and money floating around in the lab, but I could see well enough. The picture was grainy, but there was no mistaking it. Two cages had been broken open. I say broken, but that’s an understatement. They had been ripped.
The bars weren’t bent, not like you’d expect someone with superhuman strength to bend a bar, like you see in those World’s Strongest Man competitions, or in the carnival. The cages had been torn open, like the monkeys had really been packed with dynamite bananas and set off. But the monkeys hadn’t exploded – there was no tell tale sign of dark splashes on the screen, no blood, no grey and grainy bone shards littered around the lab.
‘Fuck,’ I said, my voice shaking somewhat, and my insides feeling even shakier now I thought about it.
Dave went quiet. I wished he’d talk, so I didn’t have to think. I just sat there, dumbly staring at those splintered bars, snapped into pieces.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Dave said eventually. ‘It’s locked down. They can’t get anywhere. They can’t get out.’
‘Dave, they broke through steel,’ I said angrily. I could feel my heart beginning to pound. I started twiddling my thumbs like crazy.
‘Not our problem. We just make sure they don’t get out. Call it in. They’ll get the handlers down here and put them back in.’
‘Dave, those cages’re steel.’
‘Well, the doors are steel, too, and they’re thicker. Nothing to worry about.’ His voice was shaking a little, too. I took some comfort in that.
I didn’t want to, but I thought we’d better worry about it. I didn’t want to lose my job because I was scared of a couple of monkeys. They’re only rhesus monkeys. It’s not like they were gorillas.
But, my mind threw up as I was trying to comfort myself…those cages are made of steel.
Sometimes a man can hate his own mind, even if he doesn’t hate himself.
‘Come on,’ I said, making my words firm and sure of themselves. ‘Let’s go and check the doors. Call it in, first. Then we’ll check the doors. Nothing to it. Just a little stroll down the corridor.’
‘Don’t be mad, we ain’t going down there.’
‘We bloody well are. I ain’t losing my job coz we’re too pansy to check. We’re due a round, anyway. Just make it more interesting, that’s all. Not like monkeys are dangerous.’
I was babbling again, my words tripping over themselves in an effort to get away from the images in my mind.
Dave shook his head sadly, but he didn’t argue.
I was picturing a troop of monkeys, ramping through the complex, beating the shit of the handlers with their own bloody arms. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the image would go away, but it snuck behind my eyelids. I rubbed my arms. I had goose bumps.
He picked up the phone, and I took a flashlight and my set of key from the shelf. I checked the monitors one last time before I left. I couldn’t see them, not in the corridors, not in the sleeping elevators. Not in the grounds, or the underground car park.
Hitching up my trousers, I clipped the key chain to my belt and stuffed the keys in my pocket. I wished this were America. We’d probably have
.45’s strapped to our hips, instead of shitty walkie-talkies that only worked outside, and even then only if you were in sight of your buddy.
‘Hazard Control, please,’ said Dave into the telephone.
I couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation.
Dave gave me the thumbs up. I tried to smile, but found my teeth wouldn’t unclench. Come on, come on…
‘Hi, this is Dave Bates, on level B5, ID number 5 AL 864. Yes, Hi, Reg…yeah, we’ve got a problem…no, she’s still giving me shit…yeah, you know it. Listen, I can’t chat. Two monkeys have broken loose…no, nobody let them out. They broke out…yeah, just like the Great Escape. Except with monkeys. OK, we’ll check it out. How long do you reckon?...We’ll look out for them. Yeah, thanks Reg. Same to you.’
He hung up.
‘We’ve gotta go check it out, check the doors, make sure everything’s locked tight. Hazard will be down with a team in about ten minutes. Reg says to say hi, by the way.’
‘Let’s go,’ I said, before I could change my mind and chicken out.
Dave took up his flashlight, too. We left our door unlocked.
I opened the doors on the way. Dave switched the fluorescents on in each corridor we passed. By unspoken agreement, we left them on when we left the corridors.
It wasn’t a big complex. The laboratory was two floors down.
The walls were uniformly white, broken here and there by posters on fire prevention, and on contamination procedures. We weren’t going down to the basement, so we didn’t have to suit up. We never went down to the basement. We weren’t supposed to, and to be honest whatever they did down there freaked me out more than the monkeys.
We reached the elevator with no great hiccups, apart from finding the right key to start the lifts, which were shut down at night after the big-brains left.
It was eerie, somehow dead. I never liked going on rounds. I didn’t do it if I was on with Dave. Allan was a stickler for the rules, and I couldn’t get away with it then, and Jeffrey was just a pain in the arse, so I always went on rounds, on my own if I could. Dave was alright, though.
Dead in the Trunk: A Short Story Collection Page 5