In Pieces

by Nick Hopton

  The Sleeper started to despise them all. He couldn’t help it. Sitting there with their Guinness in front of them, listening to the fiddle music from back home, with their fat beer bellies wobbling and spouting about a united Ireland, when none of them had ever done anything to help make it a reality. Well, I’m different, he thought; I believe actions count more than words, like my ma taught me.

  In his bedroom, The Sleeper picked up the dictaphone. ‘Greta, if you’re listening to this it will be because… Something has happened. I don’t expect you to understand, but I hope that this will help you to remember me as I was when others are telling lies about me. I imagine many others who never knew me will try and persuade you that when I was with you I wasn’t what I seemed. Believe me, I was. Perhaps you alone know me as I really am.

  ‘I’m not recording this for history’s sake. No, it’s more of an insurance policy really. For you. If you’re listening to this you’ll know why you need it. Just give it to the police if they arrest you, okay?

  ‘Remember me as I was, your Baa, and don’t forget I love you. Okay? Right… Well, I’ll take a break, then I’ll tell it as it was.’

  ~

  The jamming session was a great success. Jimmy’s hours of practice had paid off and he had become a competent twelve bar blues man. Nothing fancy, mind, just a few imitative licks here and there. But he had made enough progress so that, by using the effects pedals to enhance his performance, he could add a new dimension to ‘The Crocodiles’ slick sound.

  ‘Jimmy, that was real cool.’

  ‘What, that riff at the end? Yeah, I was working on that last week. Seems to come off now.’

  ‘Good, real good,’ grinned Art.

  ‘Wild,’ said Dog.

  Jimmy smiled as happy as a sandboy. This was childhood dream stuff.

  ‘You sure you’re not gonna be down for longer sometime? Then we could really do some stuff. Maybe even gig together.’

  Jimmy was ecstatic. ‘You mean like on stage with you guys? I’d love that.’ Then his expression clouded. ‘But I’m not going to be back for more than a day or two at a time till next summer. And that’s so far away, who knows what’ll be happening?’ He didn’t dare to even express the thought clearly to himself, but Jimmy had seen an article suggesting that he might yet play for his country in the World Cup qualifying matches. The idea was beginning to take root. Who could rule it out? If he had a good season with United, it wasn’t totally out of the question. But his disappointment at being unable to perform with The Crocodiles, at least in the near future, was more immediate.

  ‘Yeah, sure. I understand. You’re a big time soccer star and this is just small time rock ‘n’ roll, but you’re always welcome to jam. Just let me know when you’re around, okay?’

  ‘Sure, that’d be great.’

  ‘Enough yakking. Let’s do one more, then catch last orders.’

  ‘Okay, Ricky. What’ll it be then?’ The rest of the band looked instinctively to their lead singer for an answer. So far he’d delivered and they now had as many gigs as they wished to play. Still pubs and clubs, but their reputation was growing steadily in the independent music press.

  ‘Let’s hit Gemini Jane, okay?’ This was one of their own compositions; to be accurate, it was Ricky’s composition, into which he’d built the band parts bit by bit. It was a hard-hitting R&B number with enough original touches to give it commercial potential. What they really needed was a good producer to turn them into a recording band, but not even Ricky had planned that far ahead yet. The first step was to build a reputation and then find a record company.

  ‘Jimmy, you’ll pick it up. It’s basically a twelve bar on E, okay?’

  ‘No problem,’ grinned Jimmy as he adjusted the strap of his guitar in anticipation. ‘No problem.’ This was even more fun than playing football for Manchester United. Life was smiling upon him, he decided. But that was how it should be.

  ‘One two, one two three four…’ shouted Ricky, and began to strut as the chunky bass riff kicked in.

  ~

  The office was like a steam room; sod’s law that in August the air-conditioning should break down. Mary hunched over her desk and pressed on her voice mail. ‘You have two messages. Press five for new messages.’

  ‘Get on with it, you stupid cow.’ Sometimes Mary loathed this woman, even if she was nothing more than a disembodied electronic voice.

  ‘Temper, temper,’ teased Rory, who sat at the adjacent desk.

  ‘Get lost, Rory,’ she snapped.

  ‘Oh, PMT? Or is it that you’re just not getting enough?’ Rory raised a camp transatlantic eyebrow. ‘There’s no need to take it out on your poor phone, you know. It can’t help being a pre-historic bundle of IT.’

  ‘Piss off, Rory. Just mind your own business.’

  Rory sighed dramatically. ‘Girls today… I don’t know. Just no… etiquette.’

  Mary deliberately swivelled her chair so that her back was towards him. How she hated open-plan offices. No privacy. Whoever had come up with the idea had clearly never worked in close proximity with one hundred fellow creatures sweating in the airless confines of a fifteenth floor with phones ringing off the hook all day and computer screens cynically destroying all hope of retaining twenty-twenty vision beyond one’s youth.

  ‘First message,’ intoned the electronic voice.

  ‘Hi… Three o’clock, Calvin calling. You know the number and the deal.’ She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes since her main client in New York had rung. She’d ring him back in just a mo’.

  ‘Mary? It’s Si. I’ll try later.’ Mary immediately pressed the automatic dial for Si’s flat.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, darling. How are you? You rang.’

  ‘Oh yeah. That was quick, I only left the message two minutes ago.’

  Mary wondered if she was being too keen. God, she never knew with men. Either they complained that you were too aloof and distant or they ran away when you tried to be obliging and enthusiastic. She decided to play it cool. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise. I must have been on the line to someone else. I’m in a bit of a hurry, so can you make it quick?’

  Si sounded hurt. ‘Oh, sorry to waste your precious time…’

  Damn, she’d got it wrong. As usual, thought Mary glumly. She gave up the act. ‘No, don’t be like that. Of course I’ve got time for you. As much as you want, my love.’

  Si softened. ‘Good. Sorry, if I was uptight. You know how it is… Tough day in the flat doing nothing,’ he quipped. Mary waited for him to go on. ‘I just wanted to check you were having an all right day.’

  ‘That’s sweet. Yes, it’s okay. Not brilliant, mind, but okay. Bloody hot.’

  ‘Yeah, isn’t it great? I’m about to go off to the park and try out those rollerblades.’ With typical generosity, Mary had bought them both blades last week when she’d been in the States on business.

  She surprised herself by feeling happy that Si was having a good day, even if she was cooped up and feeling like a boiled cod. Normally, she would have been deeply irritated and jealous of a friend having fun while she suffered. God, it must be love, she thought, her pink skin flushing to red. ‘That’s great. I wish I could be with you.’

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ Si replied nonchalantly.

  I wonder if he means it. Si sounded so breezy and insouciant. Changing direction really had been a good move for him. Not just resigning from The Courier, but also starting to read more and really explore what he wanted to do with his life. Even all the spiritual stuff his mother had got him into seemed to have helped; although Mary sometimes worried that he might go all religious on her. ‘Listen, darling, I must go. Have a good skate, and don’t break a leg, okay?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll be thinking of you. Stay cool.’

  If you only knew how uncool I am, thought Mary. ‘See you tonight, then.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting. Dinner at eight?’

  Mary giggled. Definitely one of the best things about Si’s
new freedom was his willingness to cook for her. And, after a dodgy start, he was getting better. ‘Can’t wait. What are we having?’

  Si put on an appalling French accent and unwittingly demonstrated how the banality of uxoriousness increases to fill the time available. ‘Well, I thought Madame might enjoy some poached salmon with a warm rocket salad and croutons followed by summer pudding and clotted cream, accompanied by a sophisticated little wine I found today…a superb white burgundy dribbling butter and with a powerful nose of freshly cut lemongrass…’

  Mary could stand no more. ‘Stop, stop,’ she wheezed, ‘it sounds fabulous. Promise me something.’

  ‘Anything, ma chérie.’

  ‘Promise me, that whatever you decide to do, you won’t become an actor.’

  Si sounded offended. ‘Pourquoi?’

  ‘Just don’t, okay?’

  ‘Okay. See you.’

  ‘Love you… Bye.’ Mary wiped her eyes and looked around. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed her having a good time. If they had, intrusive questioning would have been bound to follow. Another joy of open-plan working.

  She spun her chair back towards the computer screen. Her screen-saver told her in no uncertain terms that TOP TOTTY KICKS TUTS—not her phrase, but suggested as a motto for her by one of the vice-presidents. She’d taken it as a compliment six months ago. Now she wasn’t so sure. Is that really what her colleagues thought of her? If so, shouldn’t she be concerned?

  God, it was hot. If she was going to get home by eight, she’d need to pull her finger out. Right, Calvin—down to earth with a bump. She grimaced as she forced herself into serious business mode and pressed another automatic dial button on her phone.

  ~

  Jimmy looked out the window at the blue cloudless sky and brown fields. It was only ten, but the dew had long since evaporated from the tired grass. Better late than never, he thought. It had been such a bloody awful summer.

  Exhausted Friesians moped in the shade of tall, solitary trees. Probably contemplating a BSE future, mused Jimmy. Personally, he couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. After all, hardly anyone had died of this new disease as far as he could work out. He still ate beef, loved it; in fact, he made a point of telling everyone that he did.

  Another hour and they’d be at Euston. Amazing, the train was on time for once.

  He was looking forward to London, as ever. Not just returning to the metropolis where he’d lived a decade, but also to seeing Si. Even though he got on with all the lads at United and the city was good for a night out, it wasn’t really the same.

  Thinking of Si reminded him; today they were having lunch with Si’s new girlfriend. Well, not so new, it seemed. Just that Si had been keeping her to himself for the best part of a year. But it was obviously starting to get quite serious as he’d insisted Jimmy get the early train to be in time for lunch. The plan was to meet at The Feathers for a swift one, before going off to a restaurant or something. She sounded a bit fancy, this girl, in banking or something equally brainy. Jimmy wasn’t sure if he’d like her. Well, it was only a lunch. Then he’d spend the rest of the day with Si on his own. And maybe meet up with Ricky and his band for a jam while he was down.

  The train entered a tunnel and, without a view to stare at, Jimmy picked up The Mirror, his favourite paper at the moment. Of course, as he’d protested to the lads at United who’d ribbed him about it, this had nothing to do with the fact that Mirror readers had voted him player of the month—the new season was only a few matches old, but he was already having a ball.

  The front-page headlines were all about Government sleaze and the Opposition being twenty points ahead in the opinion polls. Boring. The election was still eight months away, but there was little else in the news. Politics really turned him off. He turned to the back page in search of football news. If he was lucky, there might even be a mention for United’s new star striker, Jimmy Sweeny.

  ~

  It had taken over an hour, and the Sleeper had used three little tapes telling his story. He realised that if ever anyone played the tapes, only one person would listen sympathetically; to the rest he’d be simply a terrorist.

  The Sleeper had almost finished, and suddenly noticed that the effort of concentration and recollection had drained him completely. Exhausted, he clicked on the machine and spoke softly towards it. ‘This is more or less it. I’ll have to go soon. Still no sign that they’re on to me. Sometimes, to be honest, I half-wish they were. I woke up this morning realising that this is it… I’m about to do something so important that the rest of my life and many other people’s lives will never be the same again. I guess some people may be killed. And for that I’m sorry, especially if they’re just innocent passers-by. But… How did my ma put it? Oh yes… You can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs.

  ‘I was really shitting myself first thing this morning, though. I had some breakfast, cornflakes as usual, with Greta. Michael had gone off much earlier. She was a bit distant, but that might be my fault for not paying her enough attention in the last few days. What with Ginger and all, I’ve been a bit distracted. We didn’t say much over breakfast until Greta said something really odd.

  ‘“Baa, I’ve never asked you… But are you religious?”

  ‘“No, not really. I mean my ma brought me up to be a good Catholic of course… You know, I went to mass until I left home, more or less every Sunday. But not since then.”

  ‘“Oh”

  ‘“Why?”

  ‘“Well, I was thinking I might go to mass this morning. D’you want to come?”

  ‘I was surprised, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised I wanted to go to mass with Greta. It seemed right somehow. Not just to go with her. But also because of what I was about to do.

  ‘So we went round the corner to the Catholic church, which had a ten thirty mass. There were a surprising number of people. A lot of old ’uns but also some younger types. I wondered why they weren’t at work. The priest was also quite young. The reading was a passage I knew backwards from when I was small. But until now I’d never understood it. It was about walking through the valley of death. Then we sang a hymn about Amazing Grace, and I remembered the story about the lighthouse keeper’s daughter and I kind of imagined Greta as Grace Darling rescuing me from the storm. It was such a beautiful piece of music that I felt tears coming and I had to stop singing in case Greta noticed.

  ‘The rest of the mass was more or less normal. I thought my ma would have been pleased to know I was in church.

  ‘When it was time to take communion I waited until right at the end. I wasn’t sure if I should. I remembered that you weren’t meant to if you’d eaten less than an hour before. I glanced at my watch but couldn’t remember if we’d finished breakfast before or after ten o’clock. Then I thought I hadn’t been to confession for over two years. Wasn’t it a mortal sin to take communion without having confessed? And if I did confess I’d have to lie to the priest anyway… I couldn’t possibly tell him I’d been sleeping with a married woman.

  ‘By this time, everyone had gone up and the priest was about to turn back to the altar with the salver and chalice. But suddenly I had a burning urge to receive the bread and wine and rushed out of the pew.

  ‘Greta had already been up and back and was praying. I don’t think she really noticed my haste.

  ‘I walked quickly up to the priest, who waited for me to reach him, a slightly curious look on his face. Almost inviting me to confess. My heart was thumping and I bit my lip as I put out my hands… I couldn’t remember if it was left over right or right over left. So at the last minute I put my hands behind my back and stuck out my neck and tongue. The priest placed the small white disc on my tongue and I swallowed it whole. Then I sipped from the cold metallic-tasting cup. The wine felt warm like blood and the sensation made my stomach churn.

  ‘I walked back to my seat and joined Greta on my knees. I felt something immense surge up within me, out of foc
us, impossible to grasp… More than emotion… More like pure power. I clamped my eyes shut and tried to pray. But my mind just flickered like a TV after the video’s finished.

  ‘When I opened my eyes everyone was leaving the church. Greta and I stood up, smoothed down our clothes and, without a word, we walked home.

  ‘I feel stronger now. More prepared. In a few hours I’ll have done what I have to do. Everything’s ready in my sports bag. I’ve just got to pick it up from the garage, and take it there…. Carefully, mind… They warned us in training these things were sometimes a bit unstable… But it should be okay. After that it should be easy. No problems. Just leave it where I’ve been told to and then… Well, then the end of the cease-fire I suppose, and one day they’ll recognise me as a hero.

  ‘With a bit of luck I’ll be watching it all on the news tonight with Greta curled up beside me. Michael’s away for a few days abroad, so once the kids are in bed we can make love. Tomorrow, again… And maybe I’ll take her somewhere special to eat? There’s an expensive Thai restaurant round the corner she often talks about. We’ve never been. I’ll use some of the money they’ve given me for France to spoil her. I’ve got to make the most of the time that we have left together. She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved… Like a lover that is…

  ‘Right. I guess that’s it. Time to go.’ The Sleeper clicked off the dictaphone.

  ~

  The big summer which Si had yearned for had finally arrived—so late, in fact, that it was more of an Indian summer. The heavens were indigo and so high and clear.

  Si thought that if only his eyesight was strong enough he would be able to see beyond the atmosphere, the stratosphere and all the other limiting spheres and find a bit of meaning. But, he lamented, his eyesight was still deeply mortal and not up to it.