Downward

by White, Bethan

  Chris realised, and not for the first time, that the burger on the poster outside and the burger in the off-beige polystyrene pack were not the same animal. In fact, the burger had more in common with the polystyrene than any animal product Chris had ever known. So he picked out the gherkin and ate the chips and left. The clown was looking really desperate now, two determined toddlers trying to climb down his capacious trousers and another trying to tug off his wig. Chris thought it was important for everyone’s self-esteem that he wasn’t there to see the inevitable meltdown into screaming, crying and chaos that seemed to be just around the corner. And that it would be the clown doing the screaming and crying was never in any doubt.

  Chris had been in a dark tunnel now for months, perhaps even years and with the shedding of responsibilities, it had seemed lighter lately, but not really in a good way. It wasn’t the light of a warm and cosseting sun that shone into his eyes. It wasn’t even the clichéd lights of an on-coming train. It was just a cold and merciless light which showed all the flaws and pitfalls in his life and it wasn’t very pleasant; it was like life in HD; all the blackheads, beads of sweat and face-lift scars shown clear as day and larger than life. He needed a nice Vaseline filter, some low lights, soft music and everything to be back the way it was. But time could do a lot of things, it seemed to him. It could crawl like treacle, it could fly, it could be wasted, it could wrinkle if the physicists were to be believed. It could do anything it wanted to; except go backwards.

  ‘Chris?’

  He looked up and focussed on the man in front of him. He toyed for a moment with punching him in the face, but decided against it. It was probably not his fault. Probably. ‘Mark.’ Had his voice always been that colourless?

  ‘Woah, mate. You don’t look too good. Um … can I get you anything to help? I’m on a late lunch, but …’ he gestured behind him at his pharmacy.

  Chris had to bite back a hysterical laugh. ‘No, thanks. It seems I have a bit of an …’ What to call it? ‘… an intolerance to your specials.’

  Mark’s eyes widened with concern. ‘My God, Chris! What happened?’ His face clouded over, suddenly. ‘You … you didn’t need A&E or anything, did you? Because I did say …’

  ‘No, no, don’t worry. I didn’t go to anyone, or have a blood test or anything like that. It just made me conk out, that’s all. Nothing major.’

  ‘Conking out is pretty major,’ Mark pointed out. ‘I think I should give you a list of ingredients after all, so you, you know, can avoid them in future. Allergies are funny things, they can turn nasty when you least expect it. But you’ll have to keep it to yourself, the list. It could get me into all sorts of trouble if it got out.’

  Chris almost felt sorry for his friend who had, all unknowing, wrecked his entire life for him, with one tiny glassful of something dodgy. Lives were ended by less, he supposed; a car, a blunt object, a piece of lead, a blood clot, a rogue cell. But for now, Mark and his marvellous medicine had done for him. He forced a smile. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t need the list. I won't take anything I don’t recognise again. Believe me.’

  Mark looked at him, closely as if he had never seen him properly before. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Something happened. Look, if you’re not doing anything tonight, why don’t you pop round? I wasn’t planning anything, just a few beers and a pizza. It would be good to catch up.’ He saw the bag over his shoulder but hardly missed a beat. ‘If you’re footloose and fancy free, you can stay over. We could go out, you know, few drinks. A pretty girl.’

  Chris smiled wanly. ‘I don’t think much of yours.’ It had been their mantra, back in the day.

  ‘Yeah, that’s the spirit. We don’t have to …’ Here, Mark left a space. He needed to know a bit more about what was going on before he made any other gaffes. ‘Just have a chat, you know. A bit of a laugh. It’ll do you good.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about going out,’ Chris said. ‘I had a bit of a skin-full last night. Stag do, bloke from the office, you know the kind of thing. I don’t know whether I really want another night out.’

  ‘Okay then,’ Mark said. ‘Back to Plan B. I close up around six – I’ll see you at seven, shall I? Door next to the shop, look,’ he pointed. ‘My flat is up above.’

  ‘Handy,’ Chris said, thinking how awful to live so close to where you work and then in the next breath, but how nice to have a job.

  ‘Well, yes, and it saves having to buy anywhere else. It all comes with the shop. It was one of the reasons I bought it.’

  Buggering hell! He owned a High Street shop. They were the same age to the week. Chris immediately felt significantly worse than he had before. ‘Good plan.’

  ‘Ah,’ Mark gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. ‘There speaks an estate agent, eh? Anyway, must dash. I’ve had to close the pharmacy counter while I’m away and the dippy woman on the perfumes can't be left for long before the till goes haywire or some other disaster befalls. See you at seven,’ and he trotted off, neat as a new pin and as annoying as a fly in your soup. Or ointment, perhaps, Chris thought to himself as he hefted his bag onto his shoulder again and set off on yet another perambulation of the High Street, head studiously avoided as he passed the agency. Never mind, annoying or not, he had a bed for the night.

  The dog got to its feet with a sigh. It had been enjoying its bit of a lie down while they chatted. And it knew that whatever life might have in store, it was downward from now on. Downward all the way.

  Through the Bottom of the Glass

  *

  Pizza and a few beers were as good a way as any Chris could think of for getting an old friendship back on track. He realised how hungry he was as soon as they lifted the lid of the box and there was something about pulling the slices apart then and there, no plates, no cutlery, certainly no sitting up at the table and setting Kyle a good example. Just two mates, tearing into a hot chilli beef Domino’s; it surely didn’t get much better than this. The little devil on his shoulder whispered in his ear that yes, it did; it was better at home with his family, even if Megan thought that meat on a pizza was an abomination, but he cocked a deaf one and carried on eating, stringy cheese clinging to his chin. The dog waited hopefully at his feet for scraps; not that it liked meat on pizza either.

  ‘So,’ Mark said, casually, when they had eaten the last tiny morsel and were lying back, one on each of the sofas in his surprisingly roomy lounge. ‘What’s with you wandering around town with all your worldly goods in a backpack?’

  It was so matter of fact that Chris was surprised into speech. Almost without pause, he told Mark about what had happened since they had last seen each other, when he had taken that fatal migraine remedy in the shop just below them even as he spoke. Mark listened without comment, a skill he had had even at school and when Chris came to the end of his recitation, that he was now here, on the sofa and had no idea where he would be tomorrow, he still held his counsel for a moment. Chris waited, surreptitiously wiping the tears which had run unchecked down his cheeks and soaked into his collar.

  Eventually, his friend spoke. ‘I’m so sorry, mate. I mean sorry for you, I suppose I should say. How long has it been now?’

  Chris could have told him to the day, to the hour, to the minute, but settled for a rather more casual answer. ‘A couple of months, I guess. Since I … well, you know.’

  ‘Have you heard from her? The woman, what’s her name? Louise?’

  ‘No.’ Chris realised with surprise that he hadn’t thought of Louise for weeks. He had gone from hating her and wanting to squeeze the life out of her with his bare hands to forgetting as easily as that. These days he never thought of much that wasn’t immediately in front of him. Cassie’s warning of being over-introspective was wasted, he thought – he didn’t think of much at all. Just the here and now. And the increasingly annoying sound-track running through his head; his life as film noir. ‘No, I haven’t. She’d have trouble finding me, anyway.’

  ‘I guess that’s true at least. She can't med
dle in your life if she doesn’t know where you’re leading it.’

  ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’ Chris smiled as he said it, but it was just a knee jerk reaction, just his facial muscles doing what came naturally. Smile. Conciliate. Get by.

  ‘Why did she do all that, though?’ Mark had always wanted to dot his tees and cross his eyes.

  Chris put his head back on the cushions and closed his eyes. He was comfy, warm and safe here. Full of pizza and with a half-drunk beer within reach, why go there? But he owed it to Mark to tell him everything. And apart from that, it was doing him good. What was the word? Catharsis. It was feeling good in his soul to tell him everything. And the great thing about talking to a real mate was, there was no need to pull the punches. So he told him all about his one night stand. Or at least, he told him what Louise had told him about it; he had no clear memory of it himself.

  Mark’s eyes were wide when Chris had finished. ‘Wow.’ He seemed lost for words for a moment. ‘I had no idea. I suppose none of us has any idea about our mates … just, wow. And you remember all this, after so long?’

  ‘No. I didn’t remember anything about it until she told me, when … well, you know when.’

  Mark frowned. ‘This all sounds a bit dodgy to me, mate. I mean, if you really had that good a time … and believe me, that sounds like a really good time … surely, you’d remember it. I know I would!’

  ‘I had been drinking. It was a works’ do.’

  ‘But even so … do you think someone could have slipped you something?’

  Chris bit back a retort that would have included remarks such as ‘you should know.’ Instead, he said, ‘You mean a date rape drug? No – women don’t do that, do they?’

  ‘I don’t know what women do,’ Mark said. ‘I only know that you can pick up anything on the net, if you know where to look. And she does sound a bit … driven.’ He decided not to use words such as ‘bonkers’, ‘psychotic’ ‘certifiable’; his friend had enough on his plate without the unwelcome addition of a crazy stalker. Anyway, they only existed in fiction, surely.

  ‘Well, it takes two,’ Chris said, flatly. ‘I could have said no.’ He had no idea how much he sounded like his mother at that moment.

  Mark decided suddenly that the mood had got dark enough and swung his legs round and stood up, stretching. ‘What say we go out for a drink? It’s not often I have company; I’d enjoy the change.’

  Chris knew nothing of Mark’s private life. The flat was neat, smartly furnished but there wasn’t a feminine touch to be seen. The bathroom was devoid of even an extra toothbrush. It didn’t have the look of somewhere where someone had cleared out, taking her half of everything. It just looked … if Chris had been pressed on the point, he would have said it looked like a Debenhams window; stylish enough, but a little bit soulless. But that was no guide – when they had gone out on the town together when they were younger, that same combination had been Mark’s taste in women, too.

  ‘Are we … picking anyone up?’ That sounded bad. ‘I mean … do you have anyone who …?’

  Mark smiled at his confusion. ‘No, I don’t have a lady in my life currently. In fact, I rarely do, these days. The shop takes up most of my time. If I’m not actually there, I’m doing the books, inventory, that kind of thing. I am the only pharmacist, cost reasons, mainly. And I just have some part-timers for the other counters. But it pays the bills. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to open another, put some staff in, semi-retire. And if I’m not too much of an old, worn-out git by then, who knows – I may find the woman of my dreams.’

  ‘It sounds as if you have it all mapped out.’ Chris couldn’t help sounding a little bitter.

  ‘Oh, mate,’ Mark slapped his leg on his way to his bedroom, ‘who knows what’s around the next bend? I might meet her tonight. But I won't if we don’t get a wiggle on. Come on. Make yourself lovely.’ And he went out, to have a quick shower and a change.

  Chris didn’t have much to choose from in the way of gladrags. His mother had managed, in the middle of the morning’s mayhem, to wash, dry and press his clothes from the night before. He wondered again as he often had, were these skills handed over with the baby? It seemed effortless, but he suspected it was what he always thought of as the swan effect – serene and elegant and calm on top, paddling madly below the waterline. He skipped a shower – somehow it seemed a cheek too far – and was waiting casually in the lounge when Mark emerged, on a waft of Calvin Klein.

  ‘We set, then?’ Mark shrugged on a leather jacket. With his hair gelled and the aftershave, he was a bit of a cliché but Chris knew that even in his charity shop clobber, he still stood out when he was with Mark. Like women always were reputed to choose friends fatter than themselves, so men always looked for a friend who, though not hideous enough to put off women, were none the less just that bit behind the door when the looks were given out.

  Chris got up and tugged down the sleeves of his jacket, which were just that threat too short. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Anywhere in mind?’

  Megan had not wanted to go out, but as the time approached she started to feel more in the mood. She was still in her Saturday slob clothes when Lily had arrived but Sam was right – she was a lovely woman and Kyle had taken to her straight away. She had turned Megan round firmly at the foot of the stairs and said, ‘Shower. Change. Makeup. Go. Kyle and I have stuff to do.’ And Megan had obediently gone to do as she was told. Every now and then, she heard Kyle’s peals of laughter from downstairs and felt mildly jealous. The woman had a knack, there was no doubt about it. She showered, spending more than her usual mandatory two minutes about it, soaping and shampooing and revelling in the hot water running over her tired skin. Then she took her time choosing her clothes for the evening, something sparkly, not too short, not too tight, but something that looked as though she had tried at least. Then, the makeup; not the work-day slap, something more subtle, something to bring a bit of a gleam instead of her usual careworn self. She was ready just as she heard Sam’s ring at the door.

  Lily answered it, with Kyle in attendance. ‘Look,’ she heard her say, ‘it’s Auntie Sam come to take Mummy out.’

  Megan held her breath. Kyle had serious separation issues these days. His meltdown in the park was mild compared to most of his tantrums. But no; this time he just bounced around, chanting, ‘Come on, Lily. Come on, Lily. Let’s play, Lily.’ She wasn’t that happy to hear him using her Christian name like that; she preferred him to be a bit more polite to adults. But, she shrugged, if it was working, don’t knock it. She edged along the landing, still listening, but Sam came to the foot of the stairs and looked up, straight into her eyes.

  ‘Hey, Kyle,’ she called. ‘Come and look at this. Come and look at your pretty mummy.’

  Kyle put his head around the lounge door and squinted up the stairs. ‘Pretty Mummy,’ he agreed then was back to the game. Whatever that game was, she wanted names, she wanted details. She hadn’t heard him laugh like that in … well, possibly ever.

  She came slowly down the stairs, teetering on unfamiliarly high heels. Sam was still waiting at the bottom, waiting to stave off any last minute maternal misgivings. She put her arm out, across the hall. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No need to go in and tell Kyle not to worry. He doesn’t know he should be worrying, why put the idea into his head?’

  Megan tried to push past. ‘When did you get to be a child psychologist?’ she asked, testily.

  ‘The day I was born, I suppose,’ Sam said. ‘Use your experiences, Megan, not the tosh you read in all those Mama magazines you devour.’ She looked at her friend closely. ‘I know you. You won't believe you’re doing it right until some journalist or so-called expert has told you. That’s your bloody mother, that is. She’s left you with the confidence of an earthworm. Now, get your coat if you’re wearing one and let’s get out on that town. Those men aren’t going to pick themselves up, you know.’

  Megan looked at her, mulishly, then laughed and pecked her cheek. �
�Mmm, you smell nice.’

  ‘You too. Let’s go and knock ’em dead, Megan Harris. Long time, no do. I wonder if we still remember how?’ Then she answered herself. ‘It’s like riding a bike – once you fling your leg over, it all comes back to you!’

  And, laughing, they went out into the dusk of the warm, autumn night.

  Although the summer was well and truly gone, the nights were still warm enough to kid you that the winter was far away. The town centre was crowded with the usual Saturday night mixture of couples, groups and singletons but everyone had one thing in common; they were looking to have a good time. Bars and pubs in the traffic free areas were making the most of the unseasonably warm weather by putting some tables and chairs outside and these were filling up nicely. They were good advertising – everyone liked the idea of café society, even in this rather dull, middle of the road place; romantic, that was what it was and a few of the even more enterprising managers had put candles and roses out on the tables. Love was in the air.

  Sam and Megan could see the gaggle of brainless tottie from quite a distance. The bride-to-be had, very predictably, L plates on and a sash. The others were wearing clothes that wouldn’t disgrace a crowd of pole dancers from the lowest of the low club. The two friends glanced at each other and the thought was the same in both their heads; what in God’s name are we doing here?

  ‘I don’t think we need stay long,’ Sam said. ‘They’ve got a table booked in that Chinese, look, the one just behind them. If we just stay for the mains, dip out before the lychees start flying, that’ll do. Yes?’

  Megan nodded. If that. ‘I mustn’t be late, anyway. Kyle …’