Trackman

by Catriona Child

  There's a pile of magazines, so I pick up a copy of Uncut, flick through it as I eat my crisps. They're gone before I even register that I'm eating. Should have gone for something else instead. Quavers are too floaty.

  I pick up a pen and start trying to fill in the Uncut crossword. Someone's already started it, and has answered all the easy questions. It's only the really obscure ones that are left. The door swings open and I look up as Martha comes into the staffroom with Roy from the ground floor.

  'Stewart was right, you do look like shite,' Roy says as he takes the seat next to me.

  'Cheers,' I nod at him.

  'Two across is GLASS ONION,' he says, leaning across me and looking at the crossword.

  'Be my guest,' I reply and slide the magazine across the table towards him. He rips open his sandwich with his teeth and uses his free hand to write the answer.

  'I didn't think you were in today,' Martha says as she joins us at the table with a mug of tea.

  She empties a Boots meal deal out of a carrier bag and sits down.

  'I've been sorting out the returns room.'

  'Is that your lunch?' Martha nods at the empty Twix wrapper and cake cases lying in front of me.

  'Aye.'

  'I've got soup in my locker if you like? It was buy-one-get-one-free.'

  'I'm alright, cheers,' I reply, although as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I can imagine hot soup running down my throat. Violet Beauregarde eating Wonka's magic chewing gum.

  'Sure? It's tomato.'

  'Eh, well as long as you don't mind.'

  'Nah, it's cool,' Martha gets up and leaves the room.

  I get up and find a clean-looking bowl. Martha hands me the tin of soup, and I open it and fill the bowl, then put it in the microwave. Bollocks, I've chucked the tin in the bin without reading the instructions. Fuck it. I turn the timer on the microwave, and just let the soup spin. I take it out when Martha and Roy start to look up at the exploding noises. It's bubbling on top.

  'Cheers,' I say to Martha, as I take a mouthful of soup. It burns my throat, and I feel it slide down to my tummy. I'm glowing.

  Ready Brek was always Lewey's favourite. He'd have it every morning before school, even in the summer. He used to add syrup to it and stir it in, until the Ready Brek went a dirty yellow colour. His mum used to say that's why he was so clever at school: he always had a good breakfast. Davie was always changing his mind about what cereal was his favourite. Sometimes halfway through a box he'd go off a cereal, and just stop eating it.

  His mum would never let him get a new box until he'd finished the old one though, so some days he didn't bother with breakfast, would just throw a bowl of it in the bin, so it would look to his mum like he was eating it.

  'If you eat your soup in the rain, you'll never go hungry again,' says Martha.

  'That's pretty good, did you make that up?' Roy asks.

  'Nah, I've been listening to a lot of Regina Spektor recently, and someone had posted that on her website. I thought it was cool.'

  'I bet you've had that soup waiting in your locker for ages, just so you could use that line on someone.'

  'You got me, it was all a set-up.'

  'Poor Davie, and he thought you were being nice to him.'

  Martha's mobile phone flickers on the table.

  'What's up with your phone?' Roy asks.

  'Oh, I dropped it in the bath. It's working, but it's gone a bit odd. I kind of like it though. Almost like it's alive.'

  I eat the soup and zone out on Martha and Roy as they banter with each other. I pull PC Gamer towards me and read the games reviews. Someone has spilt tea over it and half the pages are stuck together.

  The soup makes me thirsty and I fill my empty coffee mug with tap water. The water swirls cloudy in my mug, and the cold liquid so soon after the hot soup makes my teeth ache.

  'Come on you, time to go back,' Martha says as she tidies her rubbish away.

  'Is it that time already?' I ask, looking at my watch.

  I stop for a pish on the way back to the shop floor and look at myself in the mirror. I don't look as bad as everyone's making out. Could do with a shave and my eyes are a bit bloodshot, but I'm fine.

  I stand behind the till.

  Time seems to slow down.

  Serve a couple of customers.

  File away some DVDs.

  Tea break.

  Take twenty-five minutes instead of fifteen. It's not as if anyone is going to miss me out there. I slept away half the morning and nobody noticed. Manage to get a couple more crossword answers.

  Talk to Ryan about computer games.

  Serve a customer.

  Lean against the counter.

  Nothing ever happens.

  THE STORE WILL BE CLOSING IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. COULD CUSTOMERS PLEASE ENSURE THAT THEY TAKE ALL PURCHASES TO THE TILL. THE STORE WILL BE CLOSING IN FIFTEEN MINUTES.

  Thank fuck for that. There aren't even any customers down here.

  THE STORE WILL BE CLOSING IN FIVE MINUTES. COULD CUSTOMERS PLEASE ENSURE THAT THEY TAKE ALL PURCHASES TO THE TILL. THE STORE WILL BE CLOSING IN FIVE MINUTES.

  THE STORE IS NOW CLOSED. COULD ALL CUSTOMERS PLEASE MAKE THEIR WAY TO THE EXIT. THANK YOU FOR SHOPPING AT VIRGIN MEGASTORE AND HAVE A SAFE JOURNEY HOME. THE STORE IS NOW CLOSED.

  'So, what's going on with you?' Martha asks me as we cash up the tills.

  'Not much.'

  'Really? I'm kind of worried about you.'

  What's wrong with everyone today?

  'How come?'

  I slide coins into a cash bag, but my hand slips and I end up dropping half of them on the floor. They bounce and roll around my feet. Martha stops what she's doing and bends down to help me pick them up.

  'Cheers,' I say to her.

  'You don't have to tell me what's wrong if you don't want to,' Martha says, as we both kneel on the floor, 'but I'm the one covering up for you.'

  'Nothing's wrong. I'm fine, honestly. You don't have to cover for me.'

  We both stand up and she hands me a pile of coins she's picked up. Her fingers brush against my hands as I take the coins from her.

  Then he had his hand on her leg. Martha laid her hand on top of his and her fingers brushed along his skin. It felt like electricity. Like she was charging him up.

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

  Maybe I should tell her what's been going on?

  'It's nothing to worry about but it's kind of complicated,' I say, 'I doubt you'd believe me.'

  'Try me,' she says.

  Out of all my mates, she's probably the one who would take me seriously. But it felt so wrong when I tried to tell Alfie.

  Hey, I was thinking, can I have that MP3 player if it's broken?

  How come?

  I wanted to take it apart, use it in one of my instruments.

  I've got a hybrid thing, made out of a bike and the toaster, but it's missing something.

  Sorry, I chucked it. Syntax error.

  What do you think, Jamesy? Should I tell her? I've been selling her The X Files on staff discount every payday. She believes in weird shite.

  Mulder and Scully.

  Why not? Give me one good reason? Just between you and me, eh? Okay, that's a good reason but come on. I pat my pocket. All good heroes need to have someone to bounce off. Superman and Lois. Spiderman and Mary-Jane. The Dr and Rose.

  It's lonely.

  He doesn't answer me. So what are you saying? Is that a maybe? Aye, not all of it, just some of it. Let me share some of it.

  'Okay, do you want to go for a drink once we get out of here?' I ask Martha.

  'Are you sure? I thought you…'

  'Aye, it's cool.'

  I hear the sound of the shop doors lock behind me as we head along Princes Street. Free at last. I know Stewart will be starting rumours tomorrow about Martha and me going out together after work, but I couldn't give a shit.

  We head onto Castle Street and down the stairs into the Hogs
head. There's an overhead heater above the door and warm air blasts my head as we enter the pub.

  'What do you fancy?' I ask Martha.

  'Eh… pint of Strongbow, please.'

  I head over to the bar, while Martha spots a free table and goes to grab it. We're in luck. She's got one of the sofa tables in the corner. There's a TV above the bar and I glance up at it as the lassie gets my drinks. I carry them back to Martha and chuck my jacket down on the arm of the leather sofa, before sitting down next to her.

  'Cheers,' Martha says and takes a drink of her cider. 'I needed that after today.'

  'Aye, pretty shite day, wasn't it.'

  'It wasn't even like anything bad happened, it was just so long and boring.'

  'I know, I wasn't even there for a whole shift and it took forever.'

  'How come you were late? Were you out with that girl?'

  'Astrid?'

  'I don't know what her name is.'

  'Nah, just slept in.'

  I don't want to get into my love life with Martha. It's too awkward. I always feel like there's a hidden subtext to her questions, but I can never work out what the fuck it is. She looks happier now I've said it wasn't a date, so that's cool. No point upsetting her again if I don't have to.

  I take a drink from my pint. I haven't been out drinking after work since.

  I promised myself I wouldn't drink again. Then I started drinking. Then I promised myself I wouldn't go out drinking after work. People got the hint, stopped asking me along to things. Now look at me. It's funny how promises you make to yourself weaken through time. Like not telling anyone else about Jamesy. What's the fucking point of promising myself things that don't matter now anyway? The one night I should have gone straight home, was the night I went out drinking. It doesn't matter how much I've abstained since then. That was the night that mattered.

  I take a big drink, down half my pint in one go. Think I might need another before I start telling Martha about Jamesy. She's waiting for me to start. Not asking any questions in case she says the wrong thing and I change my mind.

  We sit in silence and watch the flatscreen TV, even though it's on mute. The Man United game is on and I watch the preamble, trying to lip-read what Alan Hanson is saying in the studio.

  My pint slips down far too easily, and it seems like no time has passed before Martha is up getting another round. I watch her as she leans against the bar; one foot up on the metal step running underneath the bar stools. She pays for the drinks and puts her wallet into her back pocket, before picking up both pints and coming towards me. She walks slowly, but still manages to spill. She wipes her hands on her jeans after she dumps the drinks on the table.

  She ran her tongue along her fingers, covered in sticky Fanta.

  The first pint must have loosened her up, as she seems a lot more chatty than she did ten minutes ago.

  'So, Davie, what's this story I won't believe?'

  'Well, I've got this MP3 player and it helps people by playing them songs.'

  'What do you mean it helps people?'

  'I'm not sure really. I can just feel that it's making people happy. It's like I take on a bit of their joy. That's how I know.'

  'And it's the music that helps them?'

  'Yeah, you know how, like, different songs take you back places or remind you of certain people? Well, it's like Jame... the MP3 player knows what song to play, to make them have a happy memory of something. I don't really know for sure. This is just what I think's happening.'

  'So do you just pick people who look sad?'

  'No, the MP3 picks them; it can just tell they're in need... they're everywhere.'

  Jamesy's right. There are so many people out there who are unhappy. We have to start going out more, just so we can try and help more of them. As many as we can.

  'You're like some kind of superhero.'

  'I wouldn't go that far, but.'

  Trackman Trackman Trackman Trackman Trackman Trackm

  'Same again?'

  'Is it not my round?'

  'No, you bought the last one.

  I should get some food. These pints are going straight to my head. Martha's moved onto vodka and orange.

  Davie watched her mouth as she sucked the vodka and orange through a straw.

  Orange.

  Davie dropped the

  My cheeks are numb, I've turned into such a lightweight since I cut down on my drinking. I can see Martha's phone flashing through her bag.

  Need a pish. Splash water on my face in the toilets.

  'You need to get a new phone.'

  'Nah, it still works and I like it this way. It's different.'

  dropped the

  orange juice

  'You need to be careful though, Davie, it's starting to affect your life.'

  'What is?'

  'The MP3 player.'

  Why do people keep focusing on the fucking petty things, like missing a bit of work, not shaving? Are they so fucking stupid that they can't see what I'm doing is great?

  'Oh, maybe it's one of those government things. I know, the One Dread Guy was a spy and instead of killing him, the government have just tried to discredit him by frying his brain with the MP3 player.'

  'You think?'

  'Yeah, it made him go crazy, the government do things like that all the time that we never know about, especially in America.'

  Sticky Fanta.

  'You watch too much X Files.'

  She's not taking it seriously. I should have known. You were right, Jamesy. As usual, you were right.

  Martha bites her nails as she stands at the bar. How many have we had? I should order food.

  Burger? I can't read the writing on the menu, it's too small.

  'You should find that One Dread Guy, see what he can tell you.'

  'Okay, Scully.'

  One Dread Guy.

  There was a rectangular scar, rucksack after rucksack.

  Pish. I miss the urinal, it splashes onto the tiled floor.

  Tennents. Vodka and orange.

  Orange juice.

  Half time. One nil. Giggs.

  'Can I see the MP3 player?'

  I take Jamesy out of my pocket and hand him to her. She turns him over and over in her hands; he leaves a blurred trail behind him as he turns, like the tail of a comet. It doesn't go away, it ribbons around Martha, wrapping her up in spirals of colour. He's not impressed at being stared at like he's some sort of freak. I expect him to zap Martha, but he stays still. I take him off her and put him back in my pocket. Sorry, Jamesy. You're not some pet hamster that I can pass around for all my friends to hold.

  'Can you make it work?'

  'No, he decides himself.'

  'He?'

  'It, you know what I mean.'

  Tennents. Vodka and orange. Jack Daniels and Coke. Jack and Coke.

  'What did you say there? James?'

  'No, don't think so.'

  'I thought you called it James. Giving it a name, now that is crazy.'

  'Same again?'

  Goal. Rooney.

  Empty glasses clink as the table is cleared.

  He asked her if she was going too. She said yes. She smiled at him. Cool, he replied.

  Martha's leg is pressed against mine, ring a ring and she's slipping down into the sofa. Déjà vu. She shows me a video on her phone and leans her shoulder against mine. I can't make out what the video is of, the cameraman has a shaky hand. She's laughing so I laugh too.

  Two nil. Finished. Already? What time is it?

  Then he had his hand on her leg.

  Kiss her?

  'This is nice, I've missed you, Davie.'

  'I've not been anywhere.'

  'I know, but... you know.'

  Her leg presses against my thigh. Table moves. Drink spills. Drip, drip, drips off the table. Count the coins in my hand, enough for another round.

  Ring a ring a ring a ring a ring a ring a ring a

  Vodka and orange. Jack and Coke.

&nb
sp; Martha's tongue stud pings against the rim of the glass. The orange juice is reflected in it.

  Sickly sweet.

  Sticky Fanta.

  Orange juice.

  'I used to watch The X Files all the time, reminds me of school.'

  'Do you want to borrow them?'

  Vodka

  Orange

  Jack

  Coke

  'Let's go get some food or something.'

  'Chips and cheese.'

  Hard to get out of this sofa, take Martha's hand, pull her up.

  Jacket.

  Door.

  We all fall down.

  15

  Last Night a DJ Saved My Life

  He remembered the story that Irish guy at the bar had told him.

  Lewey would love it, would make him feel better.

  Davie dropped the orange juice.

  EYES WIDE OPEN. Where am I? I have no idea where I am. I'm awake. In my room. I can hear music. Where's it coming from? Why can I hear music?

  I'm lying on top of my bed, still fully clothed from last night. I've even got my shoes on, although, give me some credit, the laces are untied. The music stops and I close my eyes. It hurts to have them open. I need to lie here and wait for the spinning to stop.

  The music starts playing again.

  'Fuck off,' I say and pull the duvet over my head. My brain has woken up enough to realise it's my ringtone that's playing. Who's phoning me at this time of the day? What time is it anyway?

  The ringing stops. Then starts again. Stops. Then starts again. Stops. Starts. Fuck sake. I throw the duvet off and stand up, hold onto the bed for support. My legs are unsteady and my head throb, throb, throbs. Where's my fucking phone anyway? I follow the sound of music.

  Julie Andrews appearing over the mountain.

  My jacket's lying in the middle of the floor, and I rummage around in the pockets until I find my phone.

  Susan.

  I cut the call. I'm not in the mood for a chat. I'm on my way back to bed when it starts ringing again. I'm about to switch off my phone when I stop myself. What if something's wrong? What if Colin's been round hassling them? I sit on the edge of my bed, take the call.

  'Alright, Susan?'