Exchange

by Paul Magrs

  ‘He did, did he?’ Winnie gave a harsh little laugh. ‘Listen, the day he stops making us watch all his horrible news programmes and his rotten football, and when he stops playing his Themes from the Westerns records, then I’ll stop my reading and he can have my undivided attention.’

  Her tone sounded unusually sharp to Simon. He took the tray with the mug of cocoa and plate of ginger snaps and went off to see Grandad. As usual, he had to go through his own bedroom to get into the garage.

  He nudged the door open without knocking and found Grandad in his battered armchair, completely absorbed in going through a box of magazines and putting them into the correct order. Simon put the tray down on his nest of tables and Grandad was suddenly acting very shiftily.

  ‘Oh, um. Simon. Right. Thanks. That’s kind of you.’ Then Simon realised. Grandad was trying to cover the magazines up, so he wouldn’t see. He was putting them back into the cardboard box, face down.

  ‘What are they?’ he asked his grandad blithely.

  ‘Oh, these,’ Ray said, in a tight voice. ‘I’m just checking through my collection. These arc from ages ago. They’re vintage, really. Antiques. Probably worth something. Your inheritance, these are.’ He gave a worried chuckle.

  ‘Let’s see,’ said Simon, expecting model railways or maritime memorabilia or maybe football programmes.

  ‘Urn,’ said his grandad, turning over the top few magazines.

  ‘Oh,’ said Simon, not touching it. ‘Bounce?’ He leaned forward and flicked through the pile. ‘Naturists, Ahoy!? Glamourpuss? Pert?’

  Each cover was technicolour and each showed girls in various states of undress. They seemed like very old-fashioned girls. Simon guessed at the 1950s: they had very red lipstick, hard lacquered hair and those very pointed boobs. Boobs which, in most cases, were only just covered up.

  ‘You’ve got girlie magazines in here!’ Simon gasped. ‘So that’s what you’re doing, all the time in the garage . .

  Ray flushed with anger. He pulled the magazines back off Simon and put them roughly in the box. ‘They’re just my collection. They’re from years ago. I only got them out to check they’re still in good nick.’

  Simon was reeling. Just imagine! His old grandad pouring over ancient pictures of girls in bikinis. It seemed a bit sad, really, more than depraved. From what Simon had seen, the pictures were pretty tame stuff. Mildly titillating, compared with what went on these days. They came from a more innocent age. But still his grandad was flustered and cross at being found hoarding them.

  ‘You won’t tell your gran I’ve got them, will you? She needn’t know.’

  ‘Of course…’ said Simon.

  ‘I told her I’d chucked them out years ago. She wouldn’t even have them in the house. She thought they were disgusting. Well, you’ve seen. They’re harmless. Just glamour things, really. But I’ve got to hide them in here, up in the rafters of the garage. Here, give your old grandad a hand, would you? Getting them back up in their hidey-hole…’

  ‘Sure,’ said Simon. He had to stand on the armchair to get the box back up in the rafters. He wasn’t sure that his grandad ought to be clambering around like this. Not at his age.

  ‘Unless you want to take a look at them?’ his grandad said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well,’ said Ray, trying to give a blokey laugh and nudging him in the side. ‘You’re a growing lad. It sounds like you’ve got yourself a little girlfriend. It’s only natural, after all, for you to be taking such an interest in the fairer sex.’

  ‘Right,’ said Simon. He wished Grandad would shut up. This was embarrassing.

  ‘There’s some beautiful girls in these magazines,’ said Ray. ‘Still, I bet none of them are a patch on your — what’s she called? Kelly? Aye — I bet you’ve got an eye for the ladies. Like your old grandad, eh? I bet you take just after me.’

  Simon pushed the box back into its hiding place, up between the rafters. Then he hopped back down from the armchair. ‘You’d better drink your cocoa,’ he said. ‘It’ll get a nasty skin on it.’

  ‘Ah,’ smiled his grandad. ‘I’ve embarrassed you, haven’t I? All I wanted to say, son… is how glad I am. That you’re knocking about with this young lady. That you’re starting to do… normal things for a lad of your age. That’s really good, after all your trauma… and the tragedy and all that. You’ll soon see — that life goes on. And I was worrying about you, you know. The way you were filling your head with books and nothing else. I was worrying that you’d turn out funny. But that was wrong, wasn’t it? You’ve gone and got yourself a proper girlfriend.’ Grandad was grinning at him, warming his purple fingers round his mug. ‘And that makes me proper proud of you, son. You’re a good kid. You’re a credit to your gran and me.’

  Eight

  Most of the trees were bare now, their leaves turned into this sludgy paste all over the pavements, starting to frost over as the street lights went on. Simon headed out to the supermarket with a list of things they needed for tea that night. His gran had written down things like sponge fingers and fancy little cakes and a tin of red salmon. Proper party food. She was probably going too far. Making too much of an effort. Simon was touched by it, though. It was all for his sake.

  He wondered what it would have been like, had Kelly come back to his mum and dad’s place for tea. There wouldn’t have been all this fuss and fanfare. His mum would have been interested to meet Kelly, but she wouldn’t have put on a special tea or anything. She’d have backed off a bit and been cool about it all. She’d have known Simon was nervous enough about bringing a girl home.

  As he made his way towards the stark white windows of the shop, with their fluorescent money-off posters glaring in the gloom, Simon was trying to picture Kelly — tall, ironic, black-eyed Kelly — meeting his mum and saying hullo. He found that he couldn’t. It was like they didn’t exist in the same universe. He had a panicky second, when he couldn’t picture his mum. He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. Had he lost her already? He couldn’t see her face when he closed his eyes. Then, suddenly, he could conjure up her favourite coat — a red woollen one with a high collar. Then he could see her long, dark hair and then, lastly, her face. Of course. That was how she had looked. He felt his heart start again.

  He stepped up to the supermarket’s automatic doors and they swished open, inviting him into the warmth.

  He had teatime things to buy. He had to get a move on. There was only an hour till Kelly arrived on the bus and he had to meet her at the stop because, of course, she wouldn’t know her way around this pokey little town. Previously, she’d have had no reason to visit here.

  He picked up a basket and took out the list his gran had written in her painstakingly clear handwriting.

  And he thought: if my mum and dad had lived, and if I was living with them still, forty miles away from here, then perhaps I’d never have met Kelly. None of this would be happening.

  He shook the thought away and concentrated on the list. What was happening, alter all? Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing special at all.

  That night he took the cakes and bread buns and tinned salmon home in carrier bags. There was no way he was using the tartan shopping bag on wheels again.

  The leaf mulch was freezing over, turning to black ice, as he hurried along home, ignoring the shouts of the kids at the phone box. Maybe it was all in his head, but their shouts sounded less enthusiastic than they had before. It was as if all the fun had gone out of it for his tormentors. That was because he’d ignored them, he thought. They had never got a rise out of him. Not once. As always, that night he kept his head down, plodding towards home as they howled at him and the sky deepened and darkened overhead. He thought: just south of here, Kelly’s getting onto a bus. Especially to come here. She’s going out of her way in order to visit me.

  In the bungalow’s kitchen, his gran was busily washing the whole of her Royal Doulton tea service. Now she was drying each piece of it meticulously. S
imon stared warily at the thin china cups and saucers with their delicate pink flowers and their gold trim. Bone china. He hadn’t seen these since the funeral. They only came out for the very important occasions.

  ‘Get that tinned salmon opened. Mash it up with vinegar and pepper and little hits of cucumber, and pick out the hits of bone,’ Winnie ordered him. ‘Did you get the floury haps? Did they have enough left?’

  Just then Grandad appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had shaved and his face was gleaming red and shiny smooth. He had smarmed his hair down with Brylcreem and he was in his good dark suit, and recking of expensive cologne. ‘Do I have to wear shoes indoors, Winnie? Would it look strange if I didn’t?’

  Winnie held up a flustered hand. ‘Wear what you want. I haven’t got time to sort you out as well.’

  Simon thought his grandad seemed disappointed then, that Winnie hadn’t turned to examine him; to make sure that he came up to scratch.

  This is going to be disastrous, Simon thought, all of a sudden, and with a dear sense of foreboding. It’ll he awful. The three of us are being absurd. Like it’s royalty coming to see us. Kelly will turn up and see how ridiculous we’re being and, even if she doesn’t show it, she’ll he laughing at us all inside. She’ll have to. She’s too bright, too ironic, not to.

  He set to work on the red salmon finger buns. Well. At least she’ll have a laugh and a good feed at our expense.

  As it turned out, though — and much to Simon’s amazement — teatime went brilliantly.

  Kelly arrived bearing gilts. Early Christmas presents, she announced, passing well-wrapped parcels to Simon’s grandparents as she stepped into their porch. She called them Mr and Mrs Thompson and shook their hands politely. She had toned down her whole Gothic look, too, Simon noticed. She was still a Goth, but managed to be a tasteful one. You could see her natural complexion now, and her eyes weren’t as startlingly zombie-like as usual. Her hair wasn’t spiked up. Instead it hung down over one of her customary granny dresses — though today, her clothes just made her look demure and intellectual, rather than terrifyingly eccentric.

  Once he had shown her into the bungalow, Simon stood back and watched her operate. He was astonished. She wasn’t laconic and teasing and sardonic. She wasn’t what he was used to at all. She was charming and modest and she could sip tea out of the best china in the house without a single rattle or tinkle or slurp (which was more than Simon managed).

  ‘You must think we’re very old-fashioned and dull,’ said Winnie. ‘Having tea like this.’

  Kelly smiled broadly. ‘I love the old rituals,’ she said. Simon almost burst out laughing. Old rituals like pagan dances in the woods! That would be more like it. Smearing herself with leaves and berry juice and worshipping Hecate the goddess in front of a blazing pyre! He stopped himself abruptly. What on earth was he thinking about?

  Grandad held out a plate with shortbread on it and, as Kelly took a piece (‘Oh! I haven’t had this in years!’), Simon watched his grandad glow with pleasure. The old man was wearing a cravat, for God’s sake! What was going on?

  ‘This is the first time our Simon has ever brought a girl home to visit his folks,’ Grandad said. Why was he trying to sound posh? His voice sounded a bit strangulated.

  ‘Is it?’ Kelly turned the full force of her smile on Simon. ‘Well — he’s a quiet lad, isn’t he? He’s a good lad. Not one for running around with all the girls.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Grandad, nodding sagely. ‘That’s how all the trouble starts. Running around too much. No — we always tell him: you take your life at your own pace, son. Don’t rush into anything. It’s worth waiting for the special one… to come along. Don’t go throwing your life away.’

  ‘Um, yes,’ said Kelly.

  ‘Oh, shush, Ray,’ said Winnie, clearly thinking he was speaking out of turn and embarrassing their guest. ‘What about your own people, Kelly?’ Winnie asked. ‘Simon hasn’t told us much about them.’

  Simon winced. That was because he hadn’t even asked. He didn’t know anything at all about Kelly’s family. To him it didn’t really matter. He didn’t set the same store as Winnie did, by where and who someone came from. Winnie was obsessed with that stuff. Especially these days. (‘Your background is very important,’ she’d said to him, only recently — as she’d gone on to describe how Ada Jones had managed to forget her own.)

  ‘I’ve only got my dad,’ Kelly said. ‘Mv mum left us when I was quite little. Dad drives a lorry. He’s away quite a lot. Now that I’m older he can go even further. All around Europe. I get a lot of postcards.’

  ‘He leaves you on your own!’ cried Winnie.

  ‘We live in a nice block of flats,’ Kelly said. ‘I’ve known all the neighbours all my life. It’s like a big family.’

  ‘That sounds nice,’ said Ray. ‘Not like round here. No one talks to you round here. They wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire.’

  ‘Ray! That’s not very polite. And anyway, you’ve got all your old pals down the Legion.’

  He rolled his eyes at his wife. ‘That’s not what I mean. I mean proper community spirit. Where’s that round here? That feeling like you live in a real town…’

  ‘Here we go,’ chuckled Winnie. ‘A lecture on the Good Old Days. See, Kelly? You’ll be wishing you never came around.’

  Kelly shrugged. 4I like to hear about the past. I suppose that’s why I read so much. I want to understand what things were like.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Ray. ‘Another reader.’

  ‘I don’t mean history-type things, like battles and wars,’ she said. ‘I mean, I want to know what life was like for actual people. Like, is it true what all older people seem to say? Was it better in the olden days?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ray.

  ‘Well, I’m not so sure,’ Winnie said. ‘When you think how poor people were. We had next to nothing, when you think about it. And yet there were some much poorer than us. Ada and her family. They hardly ever had enough to eat.’ Winnie sighed. ‘Has Simon told you? I’ve been dwelling morbidly on my early years…’

  Kelly smiled politely. ‘He explained why you were so attached to that Ada Jones novel.’ She gave a whistle. ‘No wonder you didn’t want to give it back to Terrance. You should have told him. He’d have given it to you for free, if he’d known…’

  ‘Ah, well,’ Winnie said. ‘I wouldn’t like to go bragging about my famous friends… She let out a silly laugh.

  ‘Who’s Terrance?’ asked Ray suddenly, feeling left out of the conversation.

  ‘He’s my boss,’ Kelly said. ‘He runs the Great Big Book Exchange, where I work.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Ray. ‘A shop, is it? Is that where these two have been toddling off to, every Saturday?’

  ‘It’s not just any old shop,’ Simon said. ‘It’s the most incredible bookshop I’ve ever been in. It’s brilliant.’ He grinned at Kelly.

  ‘I’ll pass that message along to Terrance,’ Kelly laughed. ‘It’ll do him good to feel appreciated. He’s been a bit grumpy, just recently.’

  ‘Have another iced bun, Kelly,’ Winnie prompted.

  ‘No, thank you. He sends his apologies, too, Mrs Thompson.’

  ‘Winnie, please.’

  ‘… Winnie. He told me to pass on his profuse apologies for being so curt with you last Saturday at the Exchange. He can’t think what made him speak like he did to such a valued customer.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Winnie said, suddenly very aware of Ray’s eyes on her. Tell him I don’t mind. Everyone has off days.’

  ‘He was awful,’ Kelly said. ‘Now, if I tell him you kept that book because you were a childhood friend of the author’s, he’ll more than understand. Anyway, he hopes to see you both again this Saturday afternoon. You and Simon. You’re becoming proper regulars.’

  Winnie blushed. ‘Well, I’m not sure what our plans for Saturday are yet.’ She glanced down, and saw that everyone’s cup was empty. She picked up the china pot. ‘But do tell hi
m that I send my very best wishes.’

  As Winnie went off to brew more tea. Grandad was looking piqued. ‘The Great Big Book Exchange, eh? So that’s where you’ve both been running off to. I knew there was something. I knew there was some big new attraction.’

  Kelly ended up leaving much later than she had planned to. Simon walked out with her to the town square so she could catch the 9.20.

  ‘That was a long teatime,’ he said, watching their twin breaths puffing out ahead of them, mixing and crystallising in the dark. ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t escape sooner.’

  ‘Stop it!’ she said. Her old, sardonic tone was returning, now that they were away from the bungalow and out in the empty street together. ‘You don’t have to make excuses or sound so bloody gloomy, Simon. 1 had a very nice time, actually. I really like Ray and Winnie. They were very good to me.’

  He shrugged. ‘They’re OK.’

  ‘You’re very lucky. They went to a lot of effort to make me feel welcome.’

  ‘I know,’ he said — and he felt like he was whining.

  ‘And they both obviously love you to bits. They’ve moved their whole lives around to look after you. They should be retired and peaceful and taking care of themselves, and instead, they’re looking after a teenager. A big, gallumphing, moody teenager.’

  ‘All right! All right!’ Simon shouted out. She was laughing now and he pretended to be amused, too, but really he was stung by her words. No one had dared to point out to him how grateful he should be for all Winnie and Ray had done for him. He didn’t need it pointing out to him. Not a day went by without him dwelling on it and how he could make it up to them one day, or make it all better, or make them proud of him. Who did Kelly think she was? Weighing in like this, currying favour, buttering them up and then pointing out the bleeding obvious?

  For a second, as they strolled along under the harsh sodium lamps he felt a flash of irritation and anger at her.

  She had been so pleasant and polite. Everything had come so easily to her. In comparison, he had been rubbish. A jangling bag of useless nerves.