There was something organic in the electronic buzz and hum and the complex interactions of the call centre, partly because the carpets and walls were green. It might have been a fresh green once upon a time, but now it was just kind of rotten. And I don"t mean "organic" in a positive sense, like the forests that I used to wander through when I was a child. I mean like we were a half-dead riot of maggots, blind and buried inside a rancid avocado.
I was sitting at my desk with my head resting on my hand, my fingers holding the bridge of my nose and my eyes closed, trying not to see the CASH FOR CHRISTMAS posters pushing overtime, when I heard somebody running. I looked up and saw a girl dashing past the bank of desks, and my stomach suddenly seemed to be trying to crawl up through my chest cavity. hand, my fingers holding the bridge of my nose and my eyes closed, trying not to see the CASH FOR CHRISTMAS posters pushing overtime, when I heard somebody running. I looked up and saw a girl dashing past the bank of desks, and my stomach suddenly seemed to be trying to crawl up through my chest cavity.
She was beautiful, but not the tawdry modern beautiful that was used to describe pop stars or actors or actresses, she was beautiful like I imagined Morgana le Fay to have been: delicate yet severe, wild yet self-possessed. She had long, flowing black hair that streamed out behind her, glossy and gorgeous, held back from her face by a deep red headscarf, and her pale skin was smooth across her even, well-defined features, and the light glinted from three adjacent lip-rings grouped together at the right-hand end of her full lower lip. Her ears were small and sharp and she had red eye make-up on that swept backwards to fill the s.p.a.ces between her thin eyebrows and her big, green eyes. She wore a black shirt and a lacy, layered calf-length black skirt. She looked at me as I stood up, and then looked away. Was she upset about something? I watched as she disappeared into the girls" toilets.
"Jack," said somebody from immediately behind me, and I turned around to see Artemis Black, the manager of this floor, a big, bald, well-dressed man, with a little black goatee. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing, you awkward dreamy b.a.s.t.a.r.d? Sit your a.r.s.e right back down right now, get your headset on, and wrap your ears around some of our lovely customers. Any more funny business and I"ll have to start thinking about you, and that would be bad news." He stopped to draw breath. "This here is a job for life, and you"d be a fool not to realise that, Jack. My boy." thinking about you, and that would be bad news." He stopped to draw breath. "This here is a job for life, and you"d be a fool not to realise that, Jack. My boy."
"Yes sir," I said, and sat back down, and he smiled, nodded and wandered off, evidently satisfied. I put my headset back on and looked back over at the toilet door, and then I looked back at Artemis and waited until Artemis had disappeared into the maze of desks and whiteboards and raised management platforms. Then I looked back at the toilet door to see the girl re-emerging, red-eyed and pale. She started making her way back through the room. I stood up and threw my headset down on the desk. It was not like me to ignore my boss so decisively, but I could sense that something important was happening. I hurried over to her, through the thick air and in between the overflowing desks, and the closer I got the more nervous I became, until, by the time I reached her, I couldn"t think of anything to say. Not just because of my nerves; close up, her eyes paralysed me.
"h.e.l.lo?" she said, after a moment or two of us just looking at each other, and her voice was smoky, dark. I had Artemis" words running through my head awkward, dreamy b.a.s.t.a.r.d.
"Hi," I said. "Um. Are you OK? Do you want a cup of tea?"
"Yes. Oh, yes please. That would be good. Are you on your break?"
"No," I said. "But it"s OK. Let"s go to the kitchen."
The kitchen that adjoined the main s.p.a.ce of the call centre was a greyish, grimy little box lined with chipped tiles and lit by a strip-light that buzzed like a huge insect. We drank tea from other people"s mugs that were heavily stained and had faded phrases printed on the side. Hers said something like "I"ll wake up sober, but you"ll always be ugly", and mine said, simply, "You underestimate the power of the Dark Side". Some ancient was a greyish, grimy little box lined with chipped tiles and lit by a strip-light that buzzed like a huge insect. We drank tea from other people"s mugs that were heavily stained and had faded phrases printed on the side. Hers said something like "I"ll wake up sober, but you"ll always be ugly", and mine said, simply, "You underestimate the power of the Dark Side". Some ancient Star Wars Star Wars mug. mug.
"I just had a sad call," the girl said to me. "Reminded me of my mum."
"Why? Is she dea- I mean, is she, um, why did it remind you of your mum?"
"It was somebody ringing up to close their mother"s account down, because she"d died. And yeah my mum"s dead too."
"I"m sorry," I said. It was hot there in the kitchen, and I felt red-faced and sweaty with the heat, with embarra.s.sment, with nerves.
"Don"t worry," she said, smiling. "It was a while ago. It"s just sometimes you get a call that brings it all back. When they"re crying and stuff, over the phone. I remember doing that too. I was probably speaking to somebody in this building at the time. It"s weird to think about it like that."
"What"s your name?" I asked.
"Jennifer," she said. "Sorry. I should have started with that really."
"Don"t worry. I"m Jack."
"Nice to meet you, Jack." She shook my hand over the table and smiled a brilliant smile. Her teeth were small and bright.
"Nice to meet you too."
"I"m not going to be here much longer," she said. "Handed my notice in a few days ago."
"Lucky thing," I said.
"Well, I"ve inherited a lot."
"Oh," I said, and looked down at the table. "I"m sorry."
"Stop saying sorry!" she said. "I mean, I inherited the money and the house a while ago. I just kept on working because I thought it was what I should do. But then I started thinking, you know, may as well attempt to live the kind of life I want to live. Since I"ve got the opportunity. It"s more than most people ever get."
"I suppose," I said. "And what kind of life is that?"
"I studied design at university. And I"d love to have my own studio, you know, somewhere to study and think and draw."
She fell silent.
"Yes," I said.
"I never had time to keep it up, what with working and looking after mum. Although I did make my own clothes. I lived with her, see, and looked after her. We had a carer, but only for when I was at work. I didn"t mind, but I"d like to get back into it. The drawing and things. And I"d like an interesting house. A project, you know. And to grow my own vegetables, to raise my own poultry and livestock." She sipped from her mug. "I don"t have much faith in the systems that govern this country. Or this world. I want to be self-sufficient. Only then will I feel safe."
"That sounds like a good plan," I said. "That sounds like a really good plan." We both went quiet for a moment and she looked at the table and I looked at her. "Must have been hard," I said, "looking after your mother. What was it she had?" a really good plan." We both went quiet for a moment and she looked at the table and I looked at her. "Must have been hard," I said, "looking after your mother. What was it she had?"
"Brain tumour. Yeah, it was difficult. Distressing. I mean apart from the bodily stuff. She didn"t understand how one day was different to the one that went before, or how time changes things. She would get me mixed up with the me I was years ago, when I was a little girl. Are you sure you don"t mind me talking about this?"
"I don"t mind, if you don"t."
"Thank you. I wouldn"t mind, actually. I don"t really have many friends is the truth. She wouldn"t speak much, apart from tapping the side of her head and saying "There"s something in here. Something in here with me. How am I ever going to look after you now?" She used to think I was a little girl. Didn"t see that things had turned around." She shook her head and drummed on the tatty table with her fingers as if to distract herself.
The door swung open and Kenny entered the room. My body tensed as those empty eyes of his rolled over me. Had he seen me in the alley?
"Well," he said. "What"s all this? Having a meeting, are we? A nice little chat?" He spoke in a complete monotone. In the flat, colourless light, I saw that he was incredibly thin. The light gleamed from his flat, greasy hair. I could smell something rancid on his breath, even though he was still standing by the door.
"We"re on our breaks," I said.
"We all know that"s not true. What"s wrong this time, Jennifer?" He looked her up and down as he spoke, and the way his eyes roved so slowly across her body unnerved me me, let alone Jennifer.
"Nothing," she said. "Nothing is wrong, thank you, Kenny."
"You don"t know what I"d do for a chance to take a nice girl like you out," he said. "You"re a lovely-looking girl, you are, Jenny. Can I call you Jenny?"
"It"s Jennifer," she said.
"Lovely-looking, you are. Probably won"t want to go on a date with old Kenny Hicks though, eh? Looks like it"ll just be Kenny alone again tonight." His gaze slid off her and across the table until it was resting on me and he licked his lips. "Have a good time the other night, Jackie boy?"
"What?" I tried to say, but it was just a croak. "What do you mean?"
"You know," he said. "The other night, out in town. We saw each other, didn"t we?"
Blast. Blast blast blast. He had had seen me there in that alley and he must have known that I"d seen him doing whatever he was doing; if he did have anything to hide, he"d try to- seen me there in that alley and he must have known that I"d seen him doing whatever he was doing; if he did have anything to hide, he"d try to- "Across the bar," he said, nodding slowly. "That was you, wasn"t it?"
"Oh! Oh, yeah. That was me. Ha ha. Yes. That was me, alright."
Kenny sighed and shook his head. "I"m just not that memorable, am I? But anyway. It"s nice to have a catchup." He looked back at Jennifer again. "Nothing like a good chinwag with a couple of friends. If I were you, though, I"d be getting back to your desks before I have to report you for taking the p.i.s.s." memorable, am I? But anyway. It"s nice to have a catchup." He looked back at Jennifer again. "Nothing like a good chinwag with a couple of friends. If I were you, though, I"d be getting back to your desks before I have to report you for taking the p.i.s.s."
"We"ll have to go out for a drink after work then, Jack," Jennifer said. "I"ll email you my number, yeah?"
I looked at her blankly for a moment, amazed, as my brain spluttered and spat. "That would be great," I managed, eventually.
"Good," she said. She smiled a beautiful smile at me and stood up. Kenny offered her one of his skin-splitting grins as she left the room, but the moment she"d gone it disappeared from his face as suddenly as if it had fallen off, and his blank gaze turned to me. He didn"t say anything, just stared at me, and I felt like I was in a room with an inanimate yet homicidal mannequin.
I stood and walked over to the door, past him, and as I did so he said something very quietly. "I saw you," he said. "I saw you."
I turned to look at him, but his mouth had closed again and his small eyes gave nothing away. They might as well have just been painted on. I hurried out on to the call-centre floor.
FRANCIS.
Somebody knocks at my bedroom door. I look at it blankly for a moment.
"Come in," I say. It feels like I am just waking up. But I"ve been awake for hours.
"Hi, Francis," Erin says. She opens the door and sticks her head round. "You OK?"
"Yes, thank you," I say.
"You"re not, are you?"
"I"m OK," I say.
"I brought you a cup of tea."
"Thank you."
She smiles. Her mouth a soft curve through the shock of red hair hanging over her face. Erin loves Blade Runner Blade Runner, No Country For Old Men No Country For Old Men, The Virgin Suicides The Virgin Suicides. She reads a lot. She likes Thomas Pynchon and Dave Eggers and also Anne Rice. She listens to everything. Hundreds of bands and artists that I"ve never heard of. Sometimes I can make out Grandaddy or Bjork. She is scared of not enjoying music when she"s older. She is afraid of ghosts. She is also scared of her dreams of whales. In her dreams, all kinds of whales swim through dark murky water. Moaning. Erin is afraid of their sheer size and their sadness. And the chance that they might just swallow her by mistake. of her dreams of whales. In her dreams, all kinds of whales swim through dark murky water. Moaning. Erin is afraid of their sheer size and their sadness. And the chance that they might just swallow her by mistake.
"How are your parents?" she asks.
"My dad"s ill," I say. "Throat cancer. That"s why they wanted me to go back."
"Francis," she says, "I"m sorry."
"No," I say. "It"s operable. I don"t know why I"m being so miserable."
"You don"t have to justify it. It"s understandable," she says.
"It feels good to be back here, though. Surrounded by people again. Feels a bit more alive alive, you know. A bit further away from dying. It feels safer. I know that sounds stupid."
"It does sound a bit stupid."
"Are you working today?" I say.
"No, are you?" she says.
"No. Thank f.u.c.k. You want to play Mario Kart?"
"I think that would be amazing," she says. "In fact, I"ve got an unopened box of Jaffa Cakes in my cupboard. As long as Graham hasn"t found them. The way that boy eats. I don"t know."
"Jaffa Cakes?"
"Jaffa Cakes."
"Today"s turning out, you know. It"s getting better, anyway."
"Too right."
"Have you asked Taylor out yet?"
"Don"t you start on that, Francis. Don"t you start."
"Before we go downstairs, Erin. Have you got any stories you could tell me?"
"Afraid not, Francis. Not at the moment."
Erin writes small story-like things that she"ll memorize and recite to her friends. She doesn"t want to do anything with them. Jack tells her to try and get published. But she"s not interested in that. She"s interested in the oral tradition, she says. Camp-fire stuff. And then Graham makes some sort of joke about blow-jobs.
"Oh well," I say. "You can"t force these things, I guess."
"You"re dead right," she says.
Mario Kart the racing video game is probably the thing that unites the five of us. Me, Erin, Jack, Taylor and Graham. As a house. It"s one thing we all enjoy. Have in common. I think that, really, the most accurate description of somebody is a list of what they like. The things they"ve chosen. People are just acc.u.mulations of likes and dislikes. So if you drew a Venn diagram of all the things that we the five of us like, the area in which all of our circles overlap would contain one thing: Mario Kart.
I turn the console on and flash through the menu screens. I select my character. Erin comes back into the room with the Jaffa Cakes. And fresh cups of tea.
Amazing.
Graham emerges from his bedroom about half an hour later and joins in. I don"t know what he does in there. Probably just watches p.o.r.nography. Graham likes American remakes of j.a.panese horror films. He considers the originals to be boring. He likes Probably just watches p.o.r.nography. Graham likes American remakes of j.a.panese horror films. He considers the originals to be boring. He likes Scary Movie Scary Movie a a lot lot, and all of the sequels. He likes most films that are adaptations of other things or other films. He loves listening to the Kaiser Chiefs and other bands that make that kind of anthemic, fist-in-the-air pop-rock. He is afraid of ugliness and bird flu and any kind of physical deformity. I think that deep down he is intensely scared of women.
We are still playing Mario Kart later, when both Taylor and Jack are back from work. Pretty soon we are all playing. One person has to sit out because we only have four controllers. But they then replace whoever loses that particular race.
n.o.body asks for any detail on my visit home. And I"m glad. I guess they can tell I"m distracting myself from something.
Graham ends up playing as Princess Peach. A character wearing a crown and a huge pink dress, and driving a pink car.
"It"s like one of those cars you see covered in Playboy Playboy stickers," he says, concentrating on the screen. stickers," he says, concentrating on the screen.
"It"s not really like that," I say. I"m in first place.
"It is a bit like that," he says. "You know those cars, though? I"m always disappointed when I see the drivers. They"re never that attractive. I always expect them to be incredibly hot, but they"re just not."
"You know, Graham," says Taylor, who is sitting out, "there"s this idea that you shouldn"t just judge people on the way they look. The idea that personalities can be as attractive as faces or bodies. Have you ever thought about it?" the way they look. The idea that personalities can be as attractive as faces or bodies. Have you ever thought about it?"
"I have heard such things said," Graham says, "but I"m not convinced."
"Is that why you spend so much time on your own appearance?" asks Erin in second place and accelerating with a smile.
"I"m going for the rugged look," Graham says. "You know that. Yeah, but anyway. Appearances matter, Taylor, whether you like it or not. Just because you look like Nick Cave."
"Nick Cave is hot hot," Erin says.