by Gene Kemp
The unsteadiness inside began to grow.
Come on, man, get a hold, I said to myself. What I needed was coffee. It would give me a chance to sit down and sort out my mind. Get yesterday into some sort of order, then the rest would come flooding back (it was a bit of bluff really, but I had to do something to shake myself back into feeling normal). I took a swift butchers at the shop window across the pavement. It was packed with TVs and computers and stuff. Two of the tellys were showing different programmes, and in front, reflected in the plate glass, was me. Jeans, red sweater, zipper jacket, all in order. On my feet, as usual, were my new Silver Shadow running shoes. I’ve been wearing them non-stop for a week (except in bed) because they are so comfortable. Now I’m not into performing in front of mirrors, but I leapt up and down, waving my arms and pulling faces, just to make absolutely sure it was me, so that the daft notion I’d suddenly gone missing gave up and died.
Phew! A doughnut would be a good idea too, along with the coffee – to build up the old blood sugar. I’ve heard you can go bananas in the head if you are low on sugar. You see things that aren’t there and want to bash everybody in sight and scream. I hadn’t got to that state … yet. But there was a scream hovering in the background. It wouldn’t take much more before it took me over.
A little way down the street, opposite Marks and Sparks, is a cafe called Sneakers. Terry and I go there sometimes. It’s self-service and you can choose small or large coffee, depending on your cash flow, and their doughnuts are out of this world. Not wanting to spend more energy and shrink my blood sugar even further by trekking to the zebra crossing, I decided to cut straight across the street. The traffic was thickish, but there was no danger. I had a clear view either way and an island stood in the middle. Besides, I reckon I’m a good judge of distances. A smart grey Rover 2000 purred by, leaving masses of room between its boot and the lorry behind. I’m a good judge of oncoming-vehicle-travelling-speed too. I could get to that island, no problem. So I thought. It would have been true as well, if the driver had kept a steady pace, but just as I got out into the road, the brainless idiot stamped on the gas. I’m not making it up. I couldn’t believe it either! Twenty tons of metal and giant rubber tyres hurtling straight at me! There was no time to dither or jump back. He wasn’t going to stop. It was run or be pancaked.
I ran.
The island seemed like ten kilometres off, but I made it, and managed the other half of the road as well. Afterwards I had to lean against a lamp post because my legs threatened to give way. The shakes had such a grip I hadn’t the nous to bawl at the bonehead driver until he was well down the street – when it was too late.
Town was filling up. A dozen people at least must have passed before I woke up to the fact that not one of them had thrown half a glance my way, or had yelled at the driver, or at me, or had even bothered to ask if I was OK. In some ways that was a relief. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s people fussing over you when you don’t feel a hundred per cent fit. I waited till the trembling calmed down, then began to weave along the crowded pavement, but it was weird. I felt as though I was on my own.
Sneakers was three-quarters full. Four people were queueing by the counter. I joined them, taking a tray and a plate; helping myself to a doughnut from behind one of the little lift-up glass doors on the counter. The queue shuffled forward. Two small coffees steamed gently near an urn.
‘Large coffee, please,’ I said to the woman slopping the last dregs of milk from a jug into teacups.
She didn’t seem to hear.
I raised my voice a bit. ‘Large coffee.’
She turned away and started fiddling with the Dairy Fresh Milk container, drawing off milk from the tap into her jug.
Being ignored so completely was beginning to get on my wick. I lost my cool. ‘What’s the matter … are you deaf or something?’
Apparently she was, because all that happened was she came back to the cups and went on pouring milk. The last customer before me was paying at the cash desk. He didn’t look round. Nobody looked round.
One last try, I thought. ‘Coffee. Large.’
Not a dicky bird: I could have been shouting from inside a coal mine for all the effect it was having.
That coffee was a real need now. The woman stopped what she was doing in order to chat to another waitress, turning away from the counter, so I helped myself to a small cup, spilling some because my hands weren’t too steady. Sliding the tray along the shelf, I steered it towards the cash desk. The cashier stared at my doughnut, at my cup and saucer … and said nothing.
This was getting to be more than a joke. I nipped the back of my hand between fingernails. The sharp pinch of pain was a real pleasure. Phew! For a minute I thought I’d turned into the Invisible Man! But I was as solid as that cash register. I mean, I really was there.
‘It adds up to fifty-six pence,’ I dumped the money in front of her.
She looked up from my tray to my face. Her large brown eyes had the same glazed-over appearance as shoppers’ do. Next to the cash desk was the cutlery tray. My fingers itched to grab a handful of knives and forks and hurl them on the floor. Nobody could ignore that sort of shattering row!
But I didn’t. I hate scenes. Anyway I wanted my doughnut and coffee. So I left the coins on the counter and took my tray to a window seat and sat looking out at the people going by. Which is how I came to see Des Martin dashing along. He’s our PE teacher and he never walks anywhere like a normal human being. Seeing him brought a bit of yesterday walloping back. Me, head down, bending forwards, arms up, hands grasping the wallbars in the gym ready to pull my legs into the upside-down hanging position. I’d done the exercise heaps of times. It’s one of Des Martin’s favourite tortures. Only I don’t find it that hard and don’t get in a sweat like some kids. But yesterday my hands must have been greasy because along with the picture of myself heaving my feet off the floor, was an awful sensation of insecurity. An instant knowing that I wasn’t going to be able to hang on. My hands were slipping … slipping …
Then nothing.
I came back into the cafe. I was sweating. Gingerly I touched the top of my head. There ought to have been a duck-egg-sized lump, or at least a tender bruise. But under my hair (which is pretty thick, so I suppose it must have been some protection) my scalp was unhurt. The hospital doctors had done a good job. I knew about being there. Hadn’t I just walked out? And I had an extra memory of waking up in this high bed in a dimly-lit ward with a lot of other patients. Being night-time I couldn’t see them very well. I was rather woozy anyway. A nurse had come along and given me something to drink. Then I’d gone back to sleep again. Or that’s how I think it was.
I’d had enough of being indoors, so I licked the last of the doughnut sugar off my fingers and left the cafe. The food had done me good, and the sun, which had decided to come out, helped raise my spirits too. Things definitely seemed more cheery outside. Ordinary things were happening. Ordinary people walking about. Ordinary traffic. Ordinary birds flapped overhead.
At the end of the street I could see the entrance to the park. It’s only a small, very ordinary park – but that was in its favour right now. There are swings, a slide, a climbing frame and a puddle they call a pond with a couple of ducks. As I hadn’t got much else planned for the present, it seemed a good place to be. I’d just begun walking in that direction, when this little kid in a blue tracksuit and training shoes very like my Silver Shadows came sprinting past. He was going like the clappers, but his sporty gear didn’t fit with the way he moved. His body didn’t seem properly laced together. No rhythm in his running; just these arms and legs doing their own thing without bothering about each other. One of his shoelaces had come undone and he stood on it with his other foot, then staggered and would have fallen if he hadn’t come up against the park fence. He stood there blinking and catching his breath. I got a proper butchers at his face. Short spiky hair, big ears, a lot of freckles that ran together over cheeks and squashy nose
. His top teeth stuck out a bit too. A perky face you would remember, and I got the vague feeling I did. Only I couldn’t pin down where I’d seen him before. As I was trying to rack my brains and dig it out, his small, very blue eyes homed in and his gaze latched on to me. It didn’t half give me a kick to know I was being watched. Wasn’t imagination either because I moved as a test and saw his eyes follow me.
I said: ‘Hi! Like your shoes,’ and stuck out my foot so he’d see mine were similar.
A big grin spread across his face, which somehow made him less familiar.
‘Going to the park?’ I asked.
He nodded.
That gave me an even bigger kick. He’d actually heard what I’d said. ‘I am too. You’d better do your shoe up before you fall flat.’
He bent down and tied some sort of a knot, then rushed off through the gate as if his mum or somebody was pelting after him, about to drag him away before he could make it to the swings. I followed to see what he would do. A few other kids were larking about in the playground. They didn’t take any notice of either of us. He grabbed a swing and scrambled up, standing and trying to get it to go without the slightest idea of how to bend and straighten his knees, leaning forwards then back at the same time. He was useless.
He saw me and shouted: ‘Give us a push!’
‘Sit down then.’
He slid on to the wooden seat, fidgeting his legs.
‘Hang on!’ I pushed and he swung away.
‘Harder … harder …’ he called.
So I gave him a really good shove the second time, saw him grin and heard his squeal of pleasure as the swing zoomed high in the air. It came back, then swooshed past me, then up again. Everything would have been fine if he’d hung on, but for some reason the little idiot decided he wanted to get off in a hurry and instead of waiting till the swing slowed, he just launched himself at the ground. The chains of the swing rattled and twisted, and the seat caught him a real thwack on the bum which sent him sprawling. It was lucky it was such a low-slung swing or it might have clouted his head.
‘You OK?’ For a minute I was worried.
‘Yes.’ He rolled over and sat up. Dust and muck covered the front of his tracksuit and his hands were filthy, but there wasn’t a scratch on him.
‘You daft twit! What did y’do a stupid thing like that for?’ I was a bit angry because he’d scared me.
‘I want to go on the slide.’
‘You could’ve waited till the swing stopped.’
He didn’t bother to answer, but scrambled up and dashed to the slide, tripping twice as he climbed the steps, then choosing to come down head first, falling off at the bottom. This didn’t hold him back. He just got up and did the same thing all over again. He was a nutcase. I might have left him to kill himself on his own, only by now I felt sort of attached to him as he’d been the only one to take any notice of me this morning. Being connected made me feel kind of responsible too. No one else seemed to be keeping an eye on him and he couldn’t have been much more than seven at the outside.
‘Let’s have a look at the ducks,’ I suggested.
It was a waste of breath. He was already half-way up the slide steps again. When he reached the bottom a third time and shot off the end, there was a dog nosing under the slide. They collided. I’m sure they did, but the funny thing was the dog hardly shifted. It did have four stocky legs well spread out, one at each corner, but the kid had been travelling at quite a speed. I watched as he got to his feet. There was dirt on his face as well now. I expected him to make a beeline back up the steps, but he didn’t. He put a hand out and scratched between the dog’s pointed ears.
‘Hello, dog.’
Well … you’d have thought he’d let off a firework between its back legs or something. That animal leapt about ten feet in the air. The hairs of its rough black coat bristled and it growled, backing away to a safe distance, where it stopped and began to bark like a maniac. On and on.
Now dogs generally aren’t my scene. I’m not scared of them. They just bore me. If I’d been on my own I’d have probably pushed off and left the thing to have its nervous breakdown, but the little kid was different. I reckon he had a death wish – and like I said, I felt sort of responsible. So I hung about and watched him walk over, holding out his mucky hand and calling: ‘Dog, dog … come here dog …’ The nearer he got the more frantic that half-baked animal became. I got quite hooked watching the pair of them. The kid moving – forwards. The dog moving – backwards. Both at the same pace. A crazy sort of dance. How much longer they’d have gone on this way I don’t know, but there was an interruption. A shout:
‘Violet. Come here … Violet!’
I looked to see which was Violet. None of the kids in the playground budged. They didn’t even turn round. The bloke who had shouted came walking briskly across the grass towards us. He had one of those droopy moustaches hung on to a red face. In fact he looked half boiled in his thick padded jacket – not surprising now the sun was beaming down.
‘Violet!’ he reached the dog and took hold of its collar.
Only then did I see he was carrying a leash. Violet! I creased up. I couldn’t help it. The little kid didn’t seem to twig the funny side and just stood staring. Violet didn’t let up; whining and pulling away.
‘What’s the matter, girl?’ The bloke fastened the leash. ‘Give over, will you!’ He dragged the animal towards the path, almost barging into the little kid who happened to be standing in the way. The kid took a step back. Of course he was standing on his shoelace again. And of course he went splat! Violet growled and leapt over him. The bloke couldn’t have cared less. He didn’t look back – just barged on towards the gate.
That really bugged me. Who did he think he was, crashing about and shoving people out of the way as if he owned the whole park?
I shouted, ‘What happened to your contact lenses, mate? Why don’t you look where you’re going?’ I was really steaming.
He didn’t trouble to glance over his shoulder even then. But the little kid gave me a startled look as he got to his feet. I thought maybe I’d scared him. I didn’t want him to run off.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked quickly.
‘Peter. What’s yours?’
‘Gerry. D’you live round here?’
‘Yes.’ He looked faintly worried.
‘What’s up? Doesn’t your mum know you’re in the park?’
No answer. He was fishing in his trouser pocket, then in the pocket of his track top. ‘It’s gone. I’ve lost it.’ He looked round in a helpless sort of way.
‘Lost what?’
‘Digger,’ was all he said and then rushed off. Not sensibly back to the playground, but out of the gate. Just what I hadn’t wanted.
‘Hey!’ I ran after him.
There weren’t all that many people this end of the street now, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. He’d done a complete disappearing job. For some reason that upset me. We’d only knocked around together for about half an hour, yet I still felt in some way responsible for him, which was nutty. He was nothing to do with me. I went back to the playground because there didn’t seem much else to do. One or two people were ambling about, but the place felt curiously empty. I mooched past the swings, going to the slide, not expecting to find anything. After all I didn’t even know what I was looking for. Then, quite by accident, my foot kicked against something hard. Funny how that sort of thing can happen when you aren’t trying at all. Other times you can go round with a gold-plated magnifying glass and not find so much as a pin!
I felt about and pulled out one of those old-fashioned Dinky toys. It was pretty battered, but you could see what it was – a mechanical digger. And the little nut had gone charging off without saying where he lived! I stuffed it in my pocket. Serve him right if I kept it.
The park was suddenly boring. So I left. Just outside the gates was a stone, perfect for dribbling, and I did some real Kevin Keegan stuff along the pavement. It needed fine jud
gement and a lot of concentration to flip it round the walking feet without bumping into the bodies on top. I was really into it and got quite skilled, passing Sneakers without noticing and drawing level with the telly shop, where I’d seen my reflection, before realizing I was heading straight back to hospital.
That was a jolt.
Oughtn’t I to be heading the other way – home?
What time was it?
There was a pale stripe of skin round my wrist where my watch should have been. Grit brains! I must have left it on the hospital locker when I got dressed. I shut my eyes, trying to get a picture of myself dressing, but all I could see was sun colours printed on the insides of my eyelids. That wasn’t all though. A sticky question reared up and wouldn’t go away. If I’d spent the night in hospital and now was up and dressed, other things were missing besides my watch. Where were my pyjamas and my washing kit? And another thing, how had I come away from hospital without Mum? She’d never let me go home on my own after being kept in overnight. I know she works till one at the factory on Saturdays, but I was positive she’d get time off.
It was Saturday, wasn’t it?
I sprinted back across the road without trouble this time, and flattened my nose against the shop window. ‘Grandstand’ the telly screen said with titles unrolling. Saturday lunchtime. No doubt about it.
Perhaps Mum was already at the hospital? If she found I was missing she’d be doing her nut. She doesn’t mind about making scenes. If she thinks it’s necessary, you find you’re into a show that’s better than Dallas before you can say JR! I could picture it all. Mum creating like mad. Receptionists running round in circles. Nurses and doctors pinned to the wall by their ears.
I belted through the hospital gates, through Outpatients, through swing doors into a blue and cream corridor. My Silver Shadows padded softly over the plastic floor tiles with hardly a sound. I switched into automatic pilot at the staircase, going up two at a time, not really knowing where I was heading only that it seemed right.