Broken Toys

by Jackson Lear

  Without breaking eye contact, Josh did a quick aural check to make sure no one was about to walk in on them. “Prove it.”

  Brooke shot him a sly look, well aware that they had just crossed into new territory. Still, she climbed out of her chair, slipped off her heels, stepped around the table so Josh could see her, and lowered herself down into a side splits, giving Josh a side-on view. She even bounced up and down while on the ground. “See? All the way down.”

  Josh felt his hormones splutter in unison. Brooke then curled her legs under herself, offered a hand up to Josh so that he could help her up, and she bounced up to her feet as though she weighed nothing at all.

  “Karma might bite me in the ass with that one.” She grimaced, turned, and went back to her desk with the rest of her lunch.

  “So, I’ll see tomorrow at six?” asked Josh.

  “Perhaps. Bring water.”

  Josh remained glued to his seat in the VizCuts kitchen until the glut of co-workers returned from Garuva’s.

  Josh drove up to his house, dropped his keys onto the bookshelf by the front door, and heard the shower running upstairs. His instincts ran straight to something sweet and chocolaty. With any luck there might be a Twix or a pack of Maltesers somewhere in the kitchen, part of Hannah’s secret stash that she had been instructed to hide from him at all costs.

  Then he caught sight of Lucy and Bruce’s wedding invitation on the fridge. It was impossible to miss, given that all of the take-away menus were gone and this was the only thing that remained. Lucy had thoughtfully included a handwritten note: ‘Josh, no long hair and a devil-goatee this time. Hannah, please make sure Josh dresses like an adult. Love you!’

  The need for a Twix didn’t fade away but the invitation did bring a mind-over-matter attitude back into focus. Inside the fridge was a plate covered in tinfoil. He hesitantly lifted it up and found a batch of grilled cod and vegetables that had a thick layer of condensation from the hot meal in a cold fridge. Heavy on the greens and light on everything else, accompanied by a squeeze of lemon juice. He zapped it in the microwave.

  The shower stopped. Josh glanced at the coffee machine and … wouldn’t touch it until the morning. He couldn’t risk still being awake at one a.m. if he had to hit the gym at six.

  He fired up his laptop and found only one email was waiting for him. It was Amanda’s. ‘Back sooner than I expected.’ Josh looked over the message before the microwave was even finished. She mentioned ‘I’ a lot. Not ‘we’. There was also no mention of why she was coming back from New York as soon as she was.

  Either someone’s dying, her green card has been revoked, or she broke up with Scott, Josh thought. He sent her a quick reply. ‘Is everything okay?’

  The moment he heard the top stair creak he powered off his laptop, placed it back on the coffee table, and shifted his plate of fish and greens onto his lap.

  Hannah came down in jeans and a fluffy red cardigan while rubbing her head with a towel. “Hey Baboo.”

  “Heyaohmygod, you’ve dyed your hair.” Josh stared at the mop of burgundy that sat on top of Hannah’s head.

  “Yeah. What do you think?”

  Josh climbed up to give her a closer inspection. “It looks good.”

  “I trimmed it as well.” Hannah twirled to show off the back of her head.

  Josh leaned in and sniffed. “Did you shampoo with jasmine?”

  “I dabbed some on around my neck so I wouldn’t have to breathe in only hair dye fumes. How is it?”

  “I like it.”

  “I need to let it dry first.”

  “I will probably like it then as well. What’s the occasion?”

  Hannah shrugged with indifference.

  Josh then tried to hide a smile. “Lucy’s going to have a fit.”

  “I can pin it back and wear a hat if I need to.” Hannah turned her head to one side as she tried to clear a thimble’s worth of water from her ear. “How was work?”

  “Felt like work,” said Josh. “Quite long by the end now that I’ve cut down on caffeine. Do you mind if I eat?”

  “Not at all. I nibbled while waiting for the dye to set.”

  Josh took his dinner to the dining table. “How was your day?”

  Hannah threw her towel over the edge of the sofa. “Fucking Carol.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “Yeah. And it was a big one too. Normally Amy’s on top of any order over twenty thousand pounds but she’s still in France. Not the Amy you met, the newer one. I offered to help and Carol said she had it covered. Greg came down and said ‘if it’s correct then you can send it.’ It wasn’t correct but Carol sent it anyway. That was Friday. Today we started getting the phone calls.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Carol said the delivery guys must have screwed it up so the problem was at their end, not ours. When she ‘tried’ to call the delivery guys she said their phone lines were busy, so you know what I did? Instead of calling them myself and fixing her mistakes I told her I was going to be in and out of meetings all day. And guess what the bitch did? She started complaining of a stomach thing after lunch and one of the new girls had to come and help her out. As soon as the call was made Carol felt all better again and was back to her usual self. You know what the problem was? She used the wrong courier. No wonder we couldn’t track the order. Instead of it costing two hundred and something pounds to get six boxes to London she sent it through our local guy who was going to charge seven hundred pounds. The new girl had to ask for the boxes to be returned to us, at our expense, so that we can send them properly, and cheaply, but because they’re now three days late we can’t charge them for the freight costs.”

  Hannah blew out a breath of frustration. “Do you know anyone that kills people? Like, professionally? Because going to Carol’s funeral might make knowing her worth it. Unless she was the one organising her own funeral then it would be total chaos and no one would turn up on the right day or even to the right cemetery.”

  Josh’s eyes blanked over. “I could ask around.”

  “Good, because seriously – Carol has been there longer than any of us and she still hasn’t been fired.”

  “Is she sleeping with the boss?”

  “Greg’s gay, so probably not.”

  “Maybe Carol’s a tranny.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I have a fitting on Saturday morning for Lucy’s.”

  Josh tried to push aside the vision of himself wearing a rented suit for Lucy’s wedding instead of having the best God-damn suit on the planet as he dug into his steamed vegetables. “Any idea what colour dress you’ll be in?”

  “All she said was it was different patterns of black and gold. No idea why she went with that theme but black and gold it is. I’m expecting splotches, so who knows?”

  “Maybe I should wear a gold tie to match,” Josh said, with a smile.

  “Eh, no.”

  “Silver? Made from sequins so I look like a disco ball.”

  “By all means. And while you’re down the road having nuggets and a Coke, Lucy will be introducing me to all the single groomsmen.”

  Josh dropped the tone to something a little more reasonable. “Donald found out that Lucy’s getting married again.”

  Hannah went to get a glass of hair-coloured shiraz. “How’d he take it?”

  “I had to emphasise that I’m going against my will, that you were the one invited and I’m your plus one, we’re not getting her anything, and that Bruce is a complete twat.”

  “We’re getting them a gift.”

  “I know, but for the sake of manly showmanship: plus one, protest, no gift, twat.”

  “I wouldn’t have a problem going to Donald’s wedding if he got married again.”

  “What about if he said the same vows to this new girl as he once said to Lucy?”

  Hannah shrugged it off. “Just as long as he doesn’t call her ‘Lucy’ during the ceremony then everything should be okay.”

  “Right. So, new thing. Very left fiel
d. May need to brace yourself.”

  “Okay.”

  “You know that gym on Lonsdale?”

  Hannah shook her head. “I know Lonsdale all right but no gym.”

  “It’s actually on the second floor above a couple of shops. There’s a kebab place on the corner.”

  It clicked, allowing Hannah to nod. “Yep, gotcha.”

  “I was thinking of doing a few classes.”

  Hannah groaned and held back a laugh. “Oh honey. Honey, honey, honey. How did they sign you up?”

  “They haven’t.”

  “You’re going to hate the music there.”

  “Probably, but walking to the market and back in the morning hasn’t done much in terms of building up a sweat. Maybe going to a gym would be better.”

  Hannah’s expression started to turn towards anguish. “So I’m not going to see you in the evenings?”

  “I’m thinking of morning classes,” said Josh.

  “Oh. Really? What time?”

  “Six.”

  “Six? Really? You’ll be up in time for that?”

  “I’ll try. It’s cheaper than buying an exercise bike. Or a treadmill or rowing machine. I mean, space is kinda tight around here ...”

  “Yeah,” said Hannah, slowly nodding while trying to work out what sacrifices would be needed to see her boyfriend at all. “Have they signed you up already?”

  “No, I’m hoping to use a couple of vouchers. And yeah, the last thing I need is to buy a machine and realise I don’t like it, so I’ll try this for a month or so and see how I like it.”

  Considering Josh had shifted from ‘I’m thinking of’ to ‘I’ll try this for a month’, Hannah could do little but smile with resignation. “You’re not going to drag me along, are you?”

  “No, no, no.”

  “And this isn’t going to end up like your Les Paul, is it?”

  Josh peered at Hannah as though the link was completely lost on him. “How do you mean?”

  “You buy an expensive guitar because you used to play one, you do a few chords and scales once in a while, and it sits in the spare room as days go by feeling all neglected.”

  Josh almost fell out of his seat when he heard that one. “Wow, okay. Uh, not your best of arguments, but point taken. This will not end up like … okay, this year has not been great with the guitar but I play it when I want to.”

  Hannah bowed her head. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

  “I enjoy playing it but it’s not always at the forefront of my mind. And joining a gym is not as expensive as buying a guitar.”

  Hannah arched an eyebrow at him. “It’s not a ‘men’s’ gym is it?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Where you fellas sit in a sauna with towels covering your bits.”

  “There might be a sauna but that’s not my intention.”

  “Hmm. Well, good luck if there is.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Who are you going with?”

  Ah. And to make matters worse, Hannah caught him hesitating. “I’m going on my own.”

  Hannah squinted across the room as her suspicions flared. “Who do you know who’ll be there?”

  Josh stared down Hannah’s firm look. “Brooke mentioned the gym. She–”

  “Is that so?” asked Hannah, cocking her head slightly to one side and not giving up on her suspicions.

  “That is so,” said Josh. “She also mentioned that she does the yoga classes and I am pretty sure they are not for me. So I’ll be on the bike. She has a ‘Bring a friend’ voucher. She has a stack of them and I might be able to use the gym for free this whole month.” Josh wasn’t sure how Hannah was taking this since her look remained completely unchanged. “Do you want to come?”

  “And wake up when it’s dark outside? Nooo.”

  Josh tapped his stomach. “Look, I need to do something, and as much as I hate the idea of going to a gym I might as well try it a few times and even let myself get talked into doing a few classes. Maybe I’ll move towards karate and drop the gym completely, but for now I kinda need to get my act together.”

  Hannah drew in a sharp breath. Of course she wanted to wish Josh all the best in the world but she still wanted to see her boyfriend from time to time. With any luck the night owl in him would kick back in after the wedding and she could treat him to a late night movie marathon.

  The added problem was the very mention of the word ‘gym’. She was now two dress sizes larger than Lucy’s first wedding. On the plus side, Josh was actually making an effort to be healthier and had stopped spending all night on his laptop while the TV played in the background, so at least he was more attentive than before.

  For the next hour, Josh fired every question he could at Hannah, all so that she could complain about Lucy’s taste in friends and family.

  5

  Luxford

  The last twenty years had seen little change in Luxford. The motorway to London had been expanded and the trains came more frequently, offering the chance for commuters a quiet town life while still heading into the city every morning. The outskirts of Luxford had developed around an industrial zone, while the centre of town was still as picture perfect as it had been when Josh first moved there, thirty one years ago.

  The disappearance of Catherine Shievers still lingered. No body had ever been recovered. The case sparked a revival of interest every four or five years from someone stumbling onto what appeared to be a body lying in a ditch. Only once was it an actual person, this one belonging to a dementia-ridden grandma who wandered off and succumbed to fatigue.

  The Shievers’ still posted a reward for any useful information leading to their daughter. They had sifted through everything she had ever written down only to learn that their little girl, the one who used to play the clarinet and dreamed of joining the dance team, never wrote a single positive thing about her life and had only negatives to say about her parents. She frequently snuck out to join the boys, drink beer and smoke cigarettes, and had created an extensive blowjob list along with reviews of the experience.

  Everyone she knew had an alibi. The most likely scenario was that she went out to meet Chris Chambers, a twenty year old who had grand aspirations of doing nothing with his life. Chris ended up getting so stoned that he slept through their meet up, leaving Catherine on her own, after hours in an industrial area two hundred metres from home.

  The abductor profile provided no results. Catherine was more than willing to elbow a friend in the jaw during basketball or hockey. She slapped any guy who got a little too friendly with her and she would put her full weight behind every hit. Yet someone had, presumably, overpowered her and stuffed her into a van.

  A memorial stood in St. Bart’s marking the disappearance of Catherine. Every year her parents came to speak to the kids at school, warning them about the dangers of trusting strangers, and that the police will always answer the call of a child in need of help.

  6

  Ian

  Daniel, Ian, and Warrick crouched down behind the bushes as the wind from the 14:36 train blasted them in the face. As soon as Daniel gave the signal they each jumped up and threw two pebbles at the carriages. The train shot out of their range, leading the boys to high five each other in victory.

  “Two hits!” cried Daniel.

  “Me too!” said Ian.

  “I got the wheels,” said Warrick.

  There were only three direct hits but the boys were too busy living in the moment to bother counting which were theirs and which were not. They stepped around the bush and peered along the stretch of train track in both directions.

  Daniel dug into his pockets. “You know, if you lay a penny on the track, when the train comes it’ll flatten it.”

  “A penny’s already flat,” said Ian.

  “It’ll be flatter,” said Daniel.

  “You can’t make a flat penny flatter.”

  “Sure you can.”

  Warrick stayed a safer distance from the tracks
and kept the black bag in his hand. “You want to put a beer on the track and see what happens?”

  “And waste good beer?” Daniel asked. “No way.”

  Their attention turned towards the south. A red car slowed behind the bushes and came to a stop. The boys took that as their cue to run back into the valley so they wouldn’t be caught playing around the train tracks again.

  “To the Den?” Ian asked.

  “To the Den,” said Daniel.

  They helped each other up the embankment before heading across the large open field where the local teams played football or rugby. It was mid-week and the only person on the field was an old man throwing a purple rubber ball for his dog. The boys were careful to avoid him in case he told someone that they had been down by the creek. Or even worse: the train tracks.

  It was the summer holidays and for two glorious months the boys were free from St. Bart’s. There were only so many computer games they could play before their mums told them to go out and throw a ball around once in a while, yet Ian’s mum was forever on his back about being in contact at all times. As such, he had to keep a phone with him wherever he went. She had reminded him as often as possible that she used to be his age and was well aware of all the sneaky things her brother and his friends got up to in secret. Just as long as Ian kept clearing his search history and deleting all the photos of them drinking beer then he wouldn’t get in trouble.

  The boys were halfway to the Den when Ian felt his pocket vibrate with a message.

  “Ah shit. I have to go.”

  Daniel spun around. “What? Why?”

  “I’m going to my uncle’s house.” He typed a quick reply while Daniel made the sound of a cracking whip. “Shut up.”

  “Whatever you say, momma’s boy,” Daniel said.

  Ian clicked send, sighed, and was about to spend his whole evening having to sit at the kids table with Tom and Sarah. They were seven and five. That made him the de-facto baby sitter.

  “You guys go to the Den, just save me a beer for tomorrow,” said Ian.