by Adam Millard
“That one never pays out,” Jamie said, all of a sudden wishing that he hadn’t approached the girl. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. His newfound confidence was merely a result of Scottie’s faith in him. “If I were you, I’d play the one with the Nintendo characters in it. The claw on that one—”
“Do I look like the type of girl who wants to win a Nintendo character?” She folded her arms across her chest.
Jamie knew he was in over his head, that he shouldn’t have engaged the girl in conversation in the first place. “I… I don’t know what…”
The girl smiled and uncrossed her arms. “Calm down. I’m just messing with you.” She held a hand out—very gentlemanly-like—and said, “Liza. And what’s your name, claw-machine expert?”
Jamie shook Liza’s hand (so very soft, like the surface of a pebble) and said, “Jamie. Jamie Garrett.”
“Well, Jamie Garrett,” the girl said. “Since you know so much about these grabbers, I’m going to give you one pound and I expect you to win something for me.” She removed a tiny purse from the handbag draped around her neck.
“I didn’t say I was any good at them,” Jamie said. God, this is too much pressure! What if I can’t perform? What if I fail this girl, and she ends up hating me? It was ridiculous, the thoughts running through his head in that moment.
From the purse, Liza produced a single pound coin. “Better make it count, Jamie Garrett. This is my last one.” She held the coin out for Jamie to take and, when he didn’t, grabbed his arm by the wrist and pressed the coin into his palm.
If I fuck this up, Jamie thought, I could always get the key to the machine. He knew where Scottie kept them; they hung, labelled with stickers, beneath his desk in the cage, where he had easy access to them should anything go wrong. It was surprising how many times during an average day one of the newer games swallowed a coin without exchanging it for a credit, and then Scottie would have to do the right thing (depending on his mood at the time, of course) and either reimburse the disappointed gamer or head on in there to empty the machine and retrieve that swallowed coin.
“Okay,” Jamie said. He wasn’t getting out of this situation. There was something about the girl—an overconfidence of sorts—which Jamie had not anticipated, and now he was to pay the price. He couldn’t help but feel that he deserved it; punishment for his own self-confidence. “Pick a machine. Any machine.” He motioned to the banks of claw-machines surrounding them. He knew she wouldn’t opt for the Nintendo machine, which was a damn shame as Jamie was pretty sure he could grab her a plushie Mario. That would be too easy, though. She was challenging him, throwing down the gauntlet, and if he failed? Well, what was the worst that could happen? Jamie would slink off to the cage, tail between his legs, and the girl would disappear from his life forever, without a cuddly toy. As a negative result, it was hardly going to cause either of them sleepless nights, but to Jamie, in that moment, it was the most important thing in the world.
Liza slowly walked across the carpet, inspecting the toys in their glass and Perspex prisons. Jamie followed closely behind, the girl’s sweet perfume playing havoc with his senses.
Over at the new game—Gēmuōbā—Calum Rowe was watching Lee Kurtz thump at the buttons, shaking his head, as the line behind grew and grew. Jamie was glad to be away from all that nonsense for the time being. They were over there growing angry at some confusing new game, and he was over here, trying to win a prize for a beautiful redheaded angel.
“This one,” Liza said, finally settling in front of her chosen claw-machine. She clapped enthusiastically.
Jamie frowned as he tried to figure out what he was looking at. After a few seconds, he said, “Rugrats? You want me to try to win you a Rugrats toy?”
“I don’t want you to try to win me anything, Jamie Garrett.” She clapped again.
Jamie approached the machine—a gladiator about to go into battle against a formidable minotaur—and quickly found what he was looking for. There, one of the toys had almost made it to the chute… almost. The way it had dropped had left it arched over; perfect. “Okay, let it be known that I tried to talk you out of this,” Jamie said. “I hate these damn machines, and I never said I was any good at—”
“Are you going to win me a Rugrats toy or are you going to stand there all day making piss-poor excuses?” It was playful, though once again Jamie was feeling the pressure.
He dropped the pound into its slot and the two rectangular buttons on the console began to flash yellow. One had an arrow pointing up while the other had an arrow pointing across to the right. Pretty self-explanatory. As soon as that second button was released, the claw would drop, and that would be that.
Three shots, Jamie thought. Three shots at winning a fucking Rugrats toy for Liza. And then what? They would go their separate ways, this moment forgotten by lunchtime. That didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered in that moment. There was him, there was Liza, and there was the machine.
Nothing else.
He pressed the first button, letting go once it was lined up nicely with the well-positioned toy. Then the second button, watching as it moved to the right beyond the glass, and then he released the button…
Down came the claw, and for a moment Jamie thought, Got the bastard! I got the bastard on my first go! In went the hooks, and as it came back up, the toy shifted an inch or two before the crane gave up the ghost and allowed the toy to fall back down amongst its friends.
“Shit. Did you see that? The thing didn’t even grab. I told you these things were a waste of time.”
Liza was still smiling. “Did you? I must have missed that part.”
She was right. Jamie had never told her anything of the sort, and to do so now would be seen as making excuses. He concentrated, nudged the claw forwards again, to the right again, watched as it came down. This time the hooks went in and stayed there. Jamie’s heart sat somewhere between his chest and his throat, and he watched breathlessly as the crane and the toy it carried rose to the top, shifted to the left, started to move back when the claw suddenly opened. Not by much, but it was enough for the toy to slip from its grasp, and once again it was back on the deck, the empty claw returning to its point of origin bereft of gift.
“Ooooh,” Liza said, head pressed against the glass, breath misting there. “I thought you had it that time.”
“Makes two of us,” Jamie sighed. “Would have if the claw hadn’t opened.” Of course the claw had opened. That’s what these things did; everyone knew that.
“Last chance,” said Liza.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Jamie warned her.
“I’ve got faith in you, Jamie Garrett,” she said, and when Jamie turned his head, he saw that she was grinning, that this was possibly the most fun she had had all holiday.
“Okay, let’s do this,” Jamie said, fingers hovering over the flashing yellow buttons. If nothing else, he had passed a few minutes in the company of a pretty girl. Scottie would be back soon, and his tenure as acting manager of the arcade would be over. Enjoy it while it lasts…
Jamie hit the first button, nudging it forwards just an inch or so beyond the chute. The toy was already lined up, so a quick tap on the second button was all that was required. The claw slowly descended. In went the hooks, and the toy rose up.
“You’ve got it this time!” Liza said. She reached up and drew a tiny heart on the steamed-up glass with her finger. Jamie didn’t see that, though, for he was too busy watching the claw heading for home.
When the toy fell into the chute, Jamie relaxed. His entire body had been tensed up. Liza dropped into a crouch, opened the flap and retrieved her toy. Never before had Jamie felt like such a hero, and all over some stupid fucking cuddly toy. There were people out there saving lives, putting out burning buildings, taking down terrorists and generally making the world a better place, and here he was, feeling like some SAS legend because he’d won a mass-produced toy based on some long-forgotten Nickelodeon cartoon.
&
nbsp; Clutching the worthless toy to her chest, Liza said, “I knew you could do it, Jamie Garrett.” There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice, which was a good thing, Jamie thought. It meant that she too realised how pathetic the past two minutes had been.
“Whenever you look at that thing,” Jamie said, motioning to the toy, “you’ll remember me, and the pain and suffering I put myself through to get it.”
“I will never forget this,” she said, playing along. “You’re like a young Norman Reedus. Have you ever considered buying a Harley?”
Jamie was about to retort when there was a loud bang from the other side of the arcade. He sidestepped the claw-machine and watched as Calum and Lee marched towards the door. Without breaking stride, Calum threw open the door—so hard that it slammed against the exterior wall—and he and his sidekick disappeared through it. Back at the new machine, the next kid in line stepped up, ready to take on the challenge of Gēmuōbā, whatever that might be.
“What was all that about?” Liza asked.
Jamie shrugged. “Pair of dickheads,” he said. “Guess they don’t like losing.”
“Guess they needed the help of Super Jamie.” Liza clutched the plush toy tightly to her chest.
“Trust me,” Jamie said. “Those pricks wouldn’t appreciate it if Super Jamie came to the rescue.”
“Well,” said Liza. “I appreciated it.”
“Good.”
“And it’s a pity you’re working today. Since you’re obviously from around here, it would have been nice to have a little tour.”
Jamie gnawed nervously at the inside of his cheek. “Dumped by the parents, huh?”
“Ah, excuse me.” She feigned offence. “I was the one who did the dumping. There’s only so much sitting on the beach eating ice-creams one can take. They still treat me like a little girl.”
“Which you’re clearly not,” Jamie said. Was it pandering? He didn’t care.
“Exactly.”
“Well, I’m not really working here today,” Jamie said. “I mean, I am, but only until the boss gets back. He’s just popped out for a second. If you don’t mind… well, if you stick around for a bit, I’ll be free to give you a tour of Hemsby.”
Liza nodded. “I can do that,” she said. “But I want you to know up front that I’m a lesbian, and nothing you say or do is going to convince me otherwise.”
Jamie’s mouth fell open, though nothing came out.
Liza grinned mischievously.
“Ah, just messing with me,” Jamie said. “Got it.”
“For a smart kid you’re pretty easy to fuck with.”
Story of my life, Jamie thought. “Okay, well, I’d better go and…” He pointed toward the queue of children trailing back from the new arcade machine. It seemed to be a civil queue—with very little pushing or cutting—but that could all change in a second. All it took was one arsehole trying his luck, and before you know it you’ve got yourself a full-scale riot.
“You go do your thing, Super Jamie,” Liza said. “I’ll be around.”
Just then, Scottie appeared in the door of the arcade. He did not look happy. When he saw Jamie, he paced across the carpet, shaking his head. “What happened to my door?” he said. “I was only gone half an hour. There’s a crack in the glass, and the wood’s splintered.” He looked to Jamie, then to Liza, and when he realised what was going on, he brightened a little. “We’ll talk about the door later. Who’s your friend, Jamie?”
“This is Liza,” Jamie said. “She’s a fan of the claw-machines.”
Scottie saw the stuffed toy in her arms and nodded. “I can see that,” he said. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Liza. I’m glad you won something.”
“Jamie won it for me,” Liza said.
“Is that so?” Scottie turned his head away from Liza and winked at Jamie. “Is that why my door’s got to be replaced? Please tell me you saw who did it?”
“It was a couple of pricks,” Liza said. “Bad losers.”
Scottie once again turned to Jamie. “It wasn’t…”
Jamie nodded. As much as he didn’t want to put himself on Calum and Lee’s hit-list yet again, he felt like he owed Scottie some sort of explanation, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to cover for them, or lie to Scottie. Fuck that for a game of Charades.
“Okay, well, I’ll deal with it,” Scottie said. He knew who was responsible, would make them pay one way or the other.
“Cool,” Jamie said. “Apart from that little misdemeanour, everything’s been fine. That new machine seems to be a hit.”
“Yeah, I saw that when I walked in. The novelty will wear off. Have you played it yet?”
Jamie shook his head. “Nah. Might give it a go later, once the novelty wears off.” He turned his attention to Liza, who was glancing longingly out through the glass frontage. “Are you ready for that tour?”
“Ready when you are, Super Jamie,” she said.
God, this is embarrassing, Jamie thought, noticing the way Scottie’s lips curled up at the broadcast of his new nickname. It was certainly better than Jimbo, but only just.
“Catch you later, Scottie,” Jamie said.
“Later, kid,” said Scottie. “And Liza?”
Liza turned back. “Yeah?”
“Take care of this one. He’s gonna work for me some day.”
“Will do,” said Liza.
And as Jamie and Liza headed for the exit, Jamie wondered how this day, this beautiful, wonderful, memorable day could get any better.
TWELVE
Calum and Lee walked slowly across the sand, searching the beach for stones to skip. Both were now wearing their tee-shirts around their waists. Lee was pasty, though by the end of the day he would be red raw, sore as hell, and already peeling. Calum was already pink; his back was peppered with acne, some of it scabbed over, some of it yet to mature. His tits were magnificent, larger than some of the tits belonging to the girls in Hemsby, and he didn’t care that they were unnatural, that boys aren’t supposed to have titties. Who was going to call him names? Nobody, that’s who, not unless they liked hospital food.
“Fucking bored, man,” Lee said, launching a useless half-ender into the ocean. He watched as it landed and sunk immediately.
Out on the horizon, fishing boats ferried tourists out a mile or so. It was easy money for the trawlers; holidaymakers were enamoured with the idea of catching their supper, though it seldom worked out that way. The majority came back with empty buckets, empty stomachs, and empty wallets. The only ones stepping off the boat onto the harbour with a smile on their faces were the fishermen.
“Lee, check this out.” Calum was grinning, watching the approach of a young woman. Long blonde hair fluttered gently in the breeze and, though she had eschewed a bathing suit for a vest and sarong, Calum could tell that she was smoking hot. At her feet, some sort of miniature dog struggled to keep up with her. Its little legs were going ten to the dozen, kicking up sand and seaweed as it went. Calum didn’t think you were allowed to walk dogs on this stretch of the beach, but the woman could always argue that the thing wasn’t, in fact, a dog, but rather a rodent of some sort.
As the woman neared, Calum and Lee baited one another. Call her a slut, I dare ya! Kick sand at her dog, I’ll bet you won’t. Tell her she’s got nice tits, or you’re a pussy! The woman must have sensed something was going to happen, for she suddenly moved toward the ocean, giving them a wider berth than her previous trajectory had indicated. Once she was past them, she checked across her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She wasn’t, though she was still being watched.
“We weren’t gonna hurt ya!” Lee called across to the woman, who either didn’t hear him or decided it was best not to engage at all. “What do you think we are? Fucking rapists?” He snorted, tapped his buddy on the arm: She thinks we’re rapists, mate. Can you fucking believe that shit?
Calum watched silently as the woman headed into the dunes, the tiny dog having to work twice as hard just to ma
ke it up the sandy bank. All of a sudden he felt angrier than he had ever felt before. As the rage washed over him, every muscle in his body tensed up. He felt like he was burning up, too, which made him even angrier. The cords stood out on his neck, and he was grinding his teeth so hard that every inch of his mouth hurt. He could taste blood—his own blood—and knew that he had bitten off the tip of his tongue.
That can’t be good.
“You okay, mate?” Lee stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the woman, and that was when Calum realised he was still holding a stone. Skimming the stone no longer seemed important. What he really wanted to do was raise it up and smash it down on Lee Kurtz’ stupid head, keep bringing it down until every ounce of his mate’s face was obliterated. “Your eyes!” Lee said. “Mate, there’s something wrong with your fucking eyes!”
And there was. Where there had previously been irises and pupils there was now only blackness. To Lee it looked as if the whole thing had been scooped out, leaving an empty socket, but closer inspection revealed that the eye was still there, a glistening obsidian orb.
Calum sidestepped Lee—for some strange reason, he no longer wanted to hurt him—and strode across the sand toward the dunes, where the woman and her rat were helpless and alone.
“Cal? Mate? What the fuck?” Lee didn’t know what to do, and so he did what he always did.
He followed Calum.
*
“That’s right, Mr Binkie,” said Andrea Johnson in a sickening, syrupy baby voice as Mr Binkie, her cherished Yorkshire terrier, dropped into a crouch and began to shit. “You do your business. There’s a good boy.” She didn’t have any bags with which to pick up the offending article once Mr Binkie had finished, but she would kick sand over it. Besides, she was out of view, concealed within the dunes, and if anyone came along while Mr Binkie was shitting, well, she would tell them to mind their own business and let the dog shit in peace.