26
Generally cloudy, drizzle in places, turning bright and sunny late morning
I AM CLEARED for landing. I am Lethal. She has texted me back.
Hey u. c u for cofee? cafe nero? @ 1? dn’t b L8! LX
Try to stop me.
A quick hair repair, a cold water emergency job, being that I am at work. At least I’m wearing my Lacostes.
I check myself in Tesco’s window, not too bad. I don’t need to make a big effort; she asked me, amigo. I see Crow sitting on a black bin outside Superdrug.
Tidings, Crow. Can’t stop. Knob off, Birdbrain. I wave him away. He looks at me, glass-eyed, bounces twice and lifts off.
She has her back to the door. I consider putting my hands over her eyes but then I think, no.
Howdy. How goes?
Hi Lee. All right? Do you want a coffee?
Don’t mind if I do. If the cappuccino’s decent here. I shall just be a tickety tick tock. I join the back of the queue. She is prettier than ever. I am talking gibberish. Easy there, tiger.
I rejoin her. I try to resist an urge to rush – slow movements are the dance of seduction.
Nothing like real coffee beans I always say, I say.
She fixes me with her best seductive stare, full wattage. I am putty in her hands. Result.
Lee, she says. I just wanted to say. I just thought. You know. To let you know in fact that. The other night was great, don’t get me wrong. But I wanted to tell you and be straight with you. Because I like you. I like you a lot. You are a good friend. I just don’t think of you that way and the other night was a bit of a mistake, that’s all. Do you know what I mean?
Lorelle raises her latte and sips. She rests it in the saucer and looks at me, froth on her lip.
Of course. No problem at all.
Yeah? Really? Sorry, Lee. I hope this is OK. I thought it probably would be. Are you OK?
Absolutely no problem whatsoever.
It’s just I thought it best. Better than, you know? I thought we’re such good friends and it would be such a shame.
I am in full and total agreement. No problem at all.
Thanks, Lee. I knew you’d be fine. Our friendship means a lot to me.
And me. And me. I totally get where you’re coming from.
I think friendship is the most important thing, actually, she says.
So do I.
I’m so relieved, she says. You get mangled and next day you think, Oh my God. She laughs.
Just one of those things that occurs from time to time, I say. A natural occurrence, things occur. They occur.
Thanks, Lee. You’re a star.
Zero problema. I’ll get these.
I pay for our coffees. On the street she’s pressed for time, as per.
Got to run. Nice to see you. Take care, Lee, yeah?
Yeah. You too. Mind how you go.
I walk for ages with an empty head. Nothing. Zero. Just one foot in front of. Then I think: Maybe she never fancied me, ever. Or maybe she did and went off me. Or possibly it was that night that did it. Or Ned. Ned throwing up at the garage. Maybe Ned put her off. Or I did, or we both did. Or maybe this whole thing has just been in my head all along. So near and yet so far. Lee Hart, you total knob. As if. What? Joking me. A girl like that. Time to get real, hombre. Snap out of it. Wake up and smell the.
I don’t return to work. I walk home. My phone tings with messages from Derek. I don’t answer. My legs take me. C’est la vie. C’est la vie. C’est la vie. End of.
*
CONFIDENTIAL IS ONE of those words. It makes things formal. My letter to Colin Davenport at Greenacre Funeralcare Group PLC is Confidential. It says so on the envelope. I check the spelling so I don’t come across as an arse. I only write one side so as not to detain him. I point out that, being on the young side, I am likely to be of good use to Greenacre, able to adapt and learn but also knowing, as I do, Shakespeare’s establishment inside out. Knowing the ropes. I rattle on in the vernacular. Ready for duty. Ready to learn. Employee such as myself. A forward-thinking company like Greenacre. On I rabbit. Hope you will consider me. Not just because. But also. Dedicated. What I have to offer. As well as. Looking forward to working for Greenacre. Joining the team. Yours sincerely. I read it through. I think, You’re on, Lee Hart. I nearly hire myself.
*
DEREK AND ME eat our sandwiches outside on the forecourt, between the hearses, in the sun, as if we’re on holiday. Ham and pickle I’ve got. We are philosophical.
Derek says he wouldn’t lower himself to Colin Davenport’s level. Says he won’t crawl for a job, not to anyone. I should not have begged, he says. I should have waited till they came to me, he says.
Derek does not live in the real world. Talk about cloud nine. It’s dog eat dog these days.
Remember who taught you your trade, he says. Any cake?
I open the Mr Kipling Lemon Slices. Six in a pack for £1.40. Reasonable.
Derek gets wistful. In the heatwave of 2003 it was frontline action, he says. The elderly dropping like flies. No time to sleep or eat, he says. Full up at the inn. You have to say no, Health & Safety. When the chillers are full they’re full, takes a few days to clear them. People are caught unawares.
Derek stares off up Seddlescombe Road, reliving it. The vulnerable can’t survive extreme heat, he says. Ditto the cold snap of January 2004. Irene, he says, put fan heaters in the office to make a cosy corner for the living. Prepping clients, he says, his fingers were as stiff as the deceased’s.
I’ll miss the business, he says. Nothing else like it.
Hold your horses, I say. Not over yet.
It is for me, he says.
* * *
I have carried Colin Davenport’s reply in my rucksack for a day and a half. Get it together, knobhead, I tell myself. Now or never. I pop to the only private place on the premises, hoping Derek doesn’t notice my absence.
I lock the door, sit on the loo, tear open the envelope.
The word confidential does not feature in Colin Davenport’s letter. As far as he’s concerned I am free to wave it, along with my arse too, at the whole town and far beyond. Because he is very sorry but. He has nothing to offer at the present time, and while he realises this may come as something of a disappointment, he is confident I will find something in a related field soon. What with the current recession and cutbacks, these are belt-tightening times. Everyone is feeling the pinch, he says. Redundancies are always regrettable, but they have become necessary in today’s climate. Difficult for everyone. A disappointment of course. Thank you for thinking of Greenacre. Wishing you all the best! And a rosy future in the trade. From all of us here.
Yours sincerely. Sincerely up yours.
Colin Davenport.
I open the pedal bin with my toe. Drop the letter in.
C’est la vie. Disappointing, but. No point dwelling. I feel tired. My head is heavy as. I lay it on the cistern. We will have to sell the cottage, pronto. No probs. Best thing. ’Tis the season. Old Frilly Ears said so.