Trackman

by Catriona Child

  You used to sing this to me. Every Saturday before we went up town together on the bus.

  I can't believe I'd forgotten that.

  I'd wait in the hairdresser's while you got your hair done, then you'd take me to the baker's next door for a custard slice. When I got a bit older, we stopped going. I wanted to be with my friends instead. You'd still sing to me though and even though I'd tell you to shut up, I didn't really mean it. I never got too old for a song from my mum. You must have known that I'd need one today.

  'I know it,' he says again as the song finishes, he's not looking at me though.

  'Ssshhhh,' the man in front of us turns round.

  'Cool,' I say, winding the headphones around Jamesy, 'let them know at the box office after the film, tell them the Trackman sent you.'

  I feel like a total shit fooling the guy like that, but I don't think he'll bother going to claim the fake prize. He wasn't even listening to me when I spoke to him. I feel a bit weird, it's not the usual feeling I get from helping someone. It's a bit of an anti-climax, not what I was expecting: like when you go out drinking and instead of having a laugh, you get all maudlin.

  'Sorry,' I whisper to Astrid as I join her again.

  'Don't worry, we've already seen this bit twice. What were you doing?'

  'I'll tell you after, eh?'

  I take a drink of Fanta. It's almost empty and the ice rattles in the bottom of the cup. I can hardly keep my eyes open. That guy has taken the wind out of me. I just want to close my eyes.

  I wake up just in time to see death by bowler hat. I've missed half the fucking film. Wonder if Astrid noticed I was asleep? Man, she must think I'm such a loser. Fuck sake, I abandon her for the cheese guy and then fall asleep. Some date. I'm blaming you for this, Jamesy.

  The film ends and the lights come up. We sit still for a few seconds, that way you do after a film at the cinema.

  'Are you not going to say goodbye to your friend?' Astrid asks, as she pulls her jacket on. The cheese guy is kicking nachos off his shoes. I hear them crunching underfoot, as he walks along the row of seats.

  'Oh aye, see you Ed,' I shout after him.

  He ignores me and heads out of the screen.

  'Is he alright?'

  'Aye, he's always been a bit funny.'

  'Why did you give him your MP3 player?'

  'Eh, someone we used to work with is in a band and he wanted to hear them.'

  'I thought maybe he'd fixed it.'

  'Sorry about that, eh? I've not seen him for ages and he's had a bit of a shite time of it. He got sacked from Virgin.'

  Fucking hell, what's wrong with me? I touch my nose to see if it's growing.

  'No way, what did he do?'

  'He was stealing, he stole some iPods.'

  'Wow.'

  Change the subject, Davie. Change the fucking subject.

  'Yeah, it's a shame really, he had some problems. Anyway, you enjoy the film?'

  'Yeah, I mean I've seen it before, but yeah, it was great. Did you?'

  'Aye, even in black and white.'

  'Man, that was so annoying, huh?'

  'I never noticed how dodgy some of that film is before, you'd never get away with it these days.'

  'I know, or that fashion. What was that blue, towelling all-in-oner all about?'

  'Hey, I've got one of those at home.'

  'You're so funny! What about that fight scene at the start?' she squeezes my arm.

  'The one we saw three times?'

  'Yeah, what was Bond up to there, trying to steal the guy's shoe or something?'

  She's laughing and I'm loving it. It's like bubbles popping around my head. Champagne bubbles, making me dizzy and light-headed. She's so cool and so funny and so gorgeous. Fucking hell. And we're taking the piss out of Bond like this. It's the kind of thing Alfie and I do while we're watching DVDs.

  'You know, as a modern woman, I shouldn't really like Bond. It's so sexist. I mean, those sisters, what about their poor mother?'

  'He probably shagged her too.'

  She throws her head back with laughter and I want to kiss her. The way she said modern woman made the blood rush to my cock, and that flash of bare neck when she laughed. Man, I want to kiss her so badly right now.

  If only that guy had given me my usual kick up the arse, I'd be doing it. I'd stop her and kiss her, instead of following her like a puppy towards the bus stop. What happened? Why did I not get a buzz? Is this some sort of lesson, Jamesy? Payback or something? I don't appreciate this, you know.

  I'm about to ask her if she wants to go for a drink when I yawn instead.

  'Oh, you need your bed.'

  'It's cool, I'm okay.'

  'Come on, I heard you snoring in there. I've got an early class anyway and I've not done the reading for it yet.'

  'Aye, no bother.'

  My cock starts to droop again. Cold shower.

  I wait with her until the bus arrives. Dating is confusing, especially with a girl from a different country. I thought she was flirting with me, but now she's trying to get away. Is she telling the truth about that class or is it an excuse? In Friends, they're always dating loads of different people. Maybe I'm just a one-episode date? Destined not to be a recurring character. The one where she dates the weirdo with the MP3 player.

  I hear the rumble of the bus and watch it as it comes towards us. Astrid leans in.

  She's going to kiss me. We're going to kiss.

  She leans in and hugs me. Her beads press against me, and her smell tickles my nose. I just want to kiss her, press her up against the bus stop and kiss her. Jamesy, where's my super power? That cheese guy should have given me the boost. I should be leaning in, going in for the kill.

  'Give me a call, you,' she says and steps onto the bus. I watch as she drops the coins into the tray and then the doors swoosh shut. She's wandering down the bus looking for a seat, as it pulls out and drives away.

  Date over.

  Man, I feel so shite as I watch the bus disappear round the corner. What's up with me tonight? I'm on such a downer.

  You didn't help matters either, Jamesy. You know exactly what I'm talking about. No, get to fuck. I'm done for the night. All I wanted was one night off, well that's me, night off. I'm going home.

  Jamesy ignores me as we head back towards the flat. My legs are aching as I climb the stairs and I pull myself up using the banister. Lack of sleep must be catching up with me.

  When I reach the flat, our front door is blocked by a massive, paper-maché snake.

  Check this out, Davie boy, I made it myself.

  What for?

  I thought I might apply to art school, they love all that wacky shite.

  Fucking Alfie. I lift it up and drag it out of the way, talk about fucking fire hazards. It's covered in glitter which flakes off and sticks to my clothes. I unlock the front door and there's a trail of sparkle leading along the hallway towards Alfie's room.

  Follow the glittery road. Follow the glittery road. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the glittery road.

  It wasn't fucking emerald for a start.

  I follow the trail, but carry on past it towards the bathroom.

  Pull the light cord.

  Fucking hell.

  There's a paddling pool, painted black, hanging over the shower. Another one of Alfie's projects. He must be having a clear out.

  I see a paddling pool and I want to paint it black.

  Fuck. My heart is beating like mad.

  I thought it was a person.

  Hanging.

  I can hardly hold my cock for a pish, my hands are shaking so much. Man, this night has not turned out how I wanted it to.

  I pull at the paddling pool and tear the shower curtain down with it. Fuck. I punch them both over and over and over. One finger, one thumb, one finger, one thumb, one fist, one fist, one fist. Pound them both down into the bath, then lift the lump of plastic and carry it to the front door. I head out onto the landing and chuck the whole l
ot at the papermaché snake, before slamming the door shut.

  You're not helping, Jamesy. I'm not in the mood, okay. I fling him across my bedroom like a Frisbee, kick my Converse off, and climb into bed fully clothed. Jamesy bounces off the wardrobe and skims along the floorboards. I pull the duvet over my head and press it into my ears so I can't hear him anymore.

  14

  Mulder and Scully

  He shouted to be heard over the music.

  Lewey, it's me, LEWEY LEWIS, come on, stop fucking about.

  Let me in. I've got something to tell you.

  Davie dropped the orange juice.

  'YOU LOOK LIKE shite, Davie,' Stewart says as I head into the staffroom.

  'Cheers,' I nod and hang my jacket up on one of the pegs.

  'Heavy night?'

  'Aye.'

  Stewart's looking at me like he expects me to go on, tell him all the sordid details. I tap my watch to show him I'm already late, and leave the staffroom. I can't be arsed with this. My date with Astrid gets fucked-up. Jamesy's ignoring me. I'm fucking knackered too, it's like that cheese guy drained all my energy. There's only so much I can take.

  'David, can I see you for a second?'

  Crap. I knew I should have taken the long way round to the shop floor, instead of thinking that I could sneak past Laura's office without her noticing me. She's half-standing, half-hunched over her desk; must have sprung up from whatever she was doing as soon as she saw me pass. Having a break by the looks of it: there's a half eaten Twix and a mug of coffee sitting in front of her.

  She gestures at a chair at the side of her desk as I turn left from the corridor into her office.

  'Sorry, Laura, I slept in.'

  'It's not just today I want to chat about. Shut the door over, will you.'

  Shut the door? That's not a good sign. Laura's always going on about her 'open door' policy of management.

  I take the seat next to her desk and wait for her to speak. I'm not really sure what she's going to say. Fair enough, I was late today, but people are allowed to be late once in a while, aren't they? It's not like I do it every week.

  'Is everything okay, David?' she asks, sitting back down on her chair.

  'Aye.'

  'I'm a bit concerned about you. You've been acting out of character the last couple of weeks.'

  'How do you mean?'

  I start to read the upside down story in the Metro lying on Laura's desk. She notices me and folds up the paper, puts it out of sight.

  'You must know what I'm talking about?'

  'Sorry, I don't.'

  'This, David. Your lack of concentration, turning up late for work, phoning in sick. You didn't even bother phoning in on Monday, just didn't turn up.'

  'I can't help it if I'm sick, can I? And I didn't get the rota for Monday, I thought I was off.'

  'I saw you in town, you didn't look sick to me, and the rota's been up on the wall out there since last Tuesday.'

  I don't know what to say to this, so I don't bother replying. Jamesy is awake in my pocket, listening to everything that's going on. One eye open like a sleeping dog. I don't know what she wants me to say. Sorry for missing a couple of shifts at this shitehole. Obviously selling DVDs to people is much more important than trying to save someone from sadness. Jamesy sniggers in my pocket. You talking to me again?

  The Employee of the Month photo frame is lying in the space where the Metro was. Martha's in it now. It's not the best photo of her. Her eyes are half-shut and she's not smiling. I can just imagine her standing out there in the corridor while Laura took the photo, she wouldn't have enjoyed it much. It's a shame she's not smiling, her face always looks so bright when she does that. One of the reasons I find her so attractive.

  Ring a ring a roses, a pocket full of posies.

  'Is there anything wrong?' Laura asks.

  I shake my head.

  'I know you've been through a tough time of it the last couple of years.'

  What does she know about the last couple of years? She thinks she knows me just because she's read my employee's file. A CV, a couple of old appraisal sheets and a doctor's report; held together with a paperclip and shoved inside a cardboard folder. The lives of everyone in this shop, condensed down to a few sheets of paper and stuck inside that filing cabinet in the corner of her office. All crushed together inside one of the drawers.

  'Sorry I'm late, Laura, but I slept in, that's all. I'm fine. I feel great actually. Just didn't get to bed early enough last night.'

  She doesn't say anything, just stares at me. I feel like she's Forest Whitaker in The Last King of Scotland. Is she about to burst out laughing or is she going to go for me? I hold her stare for as long as I can, but eventually I have to break eye contact. She's trying out some sort of mind trick on me. Trying to bore into my brain for answers.

  I wasn't lying when I said I'm alright though. Fair enough, we had a fight last night, but I wouldn't give Jamesy up for anything. I wouldn't give you up, I'm sorry about last night.

  This silent treatment is going on for ages. There's a roll of price stickers under Laura's desk. I can see it if I look down at my feet. It must have rolled off and unravelled.

  £6.99 £6.99 £6.99 £6.99 £6.99 £6.99

  £6.99 £6.99 £6.99

  £6.99

  Jamesy has stopped listening. Bored now. Laura's not happy at me. Cool, I get that. Can we go now?

  CAN LAURA PLEASE COME TO THE GROUND FLOOR, LAURA TO THE GROUND FLOOR PLEASE.

  Saved by the page.

  Laura picks up her phone and calls the ground floor. 'Hi, it's Laura here. What's the matter?'

  'Is it that same guy?'

  'Huuuuh, okay, give me a minute, I'll be right up.'

  She puts the phone down and runs a hand through her hair.

  'I'm going to have to go and sort something out, David, so we'll have to cut this short. Just try and sort it out, okay? And come and speak to me if you need to.'

  'Aye, no bother.'

  'I'm going to have to record this as a verbal warning, okay?'

  'Aye, do what you have to do.'

  Laura opens her mouth as if she's about to say something, but nothing comes out. We both stand and she opens the door for me. We walk along the corridor in silence until we come to the back staircase. She takes the stairs up to the ground floor, and I stand at the metal swing door which leads out onto the basement shop floor. That was awkward, but at least Jamesy and I are talking again.

  I peer through the porthole window, my palms flat against the cold steel, ready to push the door open.

  He never went back in there, but sometimes stood outside with his palms flat against the door.

  Martha is serving a customer at the tills, Ryan's talking to someone in the Games department, a couple are browsing the feature films, good old Duncan is over by the porn. My breath steams up the glass window. The shop floor scene disappears. Nobody would notice if I slipped away.

  I can't face going out there. My hands refuse to push open the door. I wipe the window and look at them all. It's like a soap. The same shite. Going on. Every. Single. Day.

  Groundhog.

  I let my breath mist up the window again.

  I spin on the spot and head up the back stairs instead. Into the returns room. I'd rather spend some time with the ghost today, than have to go out there. After what I've been doing with Jamesy, selling DVDs seems like such a waste of time. What's the point of it? Jamesy's right. Playing music is much more important, and I need to rest. Make sure I'm up to the job. No half-arsed superhero is going to save the day.

  I wander to the back of the returns room and pile up some crates of sale CDs in the far corner. Build myself a wee fort. I squeeze in behind them and continue to build, so I'm walled in; like one of those deformed princes you hear about, who've been bricked up in an old castle: one day they knock down a wall and come face to face with a skeleton.

  I curl up on the floor. Shut my eyes.

  Something brushes p
ast my ear, and I'm awake. I forget where I am and kick my legs out. They hit the tower of CD crates. I watch in slow motion as the tower sways to one side.

  That was close.

  Topples.

  Crash!

  CD cases splinter and crack as they hit the ground. CDs bounce out of cases, spin and roll in all directions, casting shafts of light and rainbows.

  Fuck.

  I stand up, dust my self down and wait for someone to come and investigate the noise. What will I say? I tripped?

  Nobody appears. In-store radio must be extra loud today to have drowned that out. Either that or we're all going deaf from listening to it every day.

  I sort the CDs out as best as I can. Shove them back into the crates and get the hell out of there before anyone sees what a mess I've made. I'll start a rumour it was the ghost. Make sure Stewart gets wind of it.

  What time is it anyway? Fuck, I must have been asleep for nearly two hours. Laura'll have me marched out of the shop if she knows that I've been up here sleeping. Written warning here I come.

  I jog down the stairs to the shop floor.

  'Where have you been? Martha was looking for you.' Ryan says as I join him at the counter.

  'Just sorting out the returns room.'

  'Should you not be on lunch? I was told to cover the tills.'

  'I've not even checked the daily rota,' I reply, and duck under the counter where the rota is lying inside a polypocket. Sure enough, I should have been on lunch ten minutes ago.

  'Whoops,' I say, and leave Ryan behind the tills as I head through to the staffroom.

  I didn't bring anything to eat with me today, so I rummage around at the back of my locker, where I know there's some emergency change. I buy myself a Twix and a packet of Quavers from the vending machine in the staffroom.

  I notice that Janette the cleaner has been baking again. I help myself to a couple of fairy cakes from the tin next to the kettle, and dump my feast at a place at the table.

  I turn the kettle on and fill a mug with coffee and milk as I wait for it to boil. The milk smells a bit dodgy, so I add more coffee to drown it out. I stir the coffee and milk with a teaspoon, play with the brown paste in the bottom of my mug until the kettle clicks off. I carry my coffee over to the table and sit down.