He thought about applying for Universal Credit until he saw how long the waiting time was. He needed money now, not five weeks from now, so Danny began to look for work wherever it might be available. Supermarkets. Warehouses. Offices. Haulage companies. Factories. Takeaways. Newsagents. Fast food outlets. Clothes shops. Bakeries. Department stores. Cleaning companies. Waste disposal outfits. Butchers. Jewelers. Restaurants. Sandwich shops. Mobile phone shops. Pet shops. Cinemas. Bookshops. Hairdressers. Art galleries. Zoos. Cemeteries. Taxi companies. He even applied to work as a parking warden, a job that he and everybody else in the world found indefensible (including many parking wardens); but whether it was because people weren’t hiring, or because his CV could have fit on a Post-it note with plenty of room to spare, Danny couldn’t find a job anywhere.
Another challenge he hadn’t foreseen was looking for work as a single parent. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about before because, well, he’d never needed to, but now he realized just how difficult it was. Will was never alone when Liz was alive because she and Danny would coordinate their schedules in such a way as to ensure that one of them was always free to look after him, and Danny had since adjusted his hours so that he now left the house after Will had gone to school and was home in time to make dinner every day. He needed a job with similar hours because he couldn’t afford a regular babysitter (like most people in London) and he wasn’t willing to leave his son alone for long periods of time (as much as Will would have liked that). Several times he saw adverts looking for night security staff with immediate starts, and many service industry jobs he found—waitstaff, bar work, call centers—required little more than a pulse and a readiness to work nights. Danny was often more qualified for these positions than for many of the others he came across, but as much as he needed a job, he had no choice but to rule them all out.
* * *
Two weeks after getting fired, Danny was wandering around Islington when he noticed a small scrap of paper taped to the inside of a murky shop window. It was a handwritten advert for a full-time assistant, although Danny’s first thought when he peered through the window was that the place wasn’t a shop at all but a front for something dodgy like an organ farm or a meeting place for the Flat Earth Society. Staring back at him were various crooked and sun-bleached mannequins adorned in a bizarre array of costumes, from clown masks with serrated teeth and blood-splattered surgeons’ aprons to a black PVC bondage outfit complete with bright-orange ball gag. It was only when Danny stepped back and read the sign above the door that he realized he was standing outside a costume shop. Quickly smoothing his clothes with his palms and running his hands through his hair, he checked himself in the window and made his way inside.
The shop smelled like a lost property office and looked like a thrift store, albeit one that received the bulk of its donations from dominatrices, circus performers, and Burning Man attendees. It was also eerily quiet, and as Danny made his way past the various racks that led towards the counter at the back of the shop, all he could hear were the creaks of the floorboards and the murmur of the street, which suddenly felt much farther away than it actually was.
“Hello?” said Danny. He peered over the counter and into the open storeroom behind it. He waited for an answer, but not for very long because the place gave him the heebie-jeebies and all he wanted to do was leave, which was just what he was about to do when a pirate leapt up from behind the counter the moment his back was turned.
“Ahoy there!” shouted the pirate.
Danny screamed and spun around to find a man with an eye patch and a stuffed parrot on his shoulder. It wasn’t a stuffed toy that resembled a parrot but an actual stuffed parrot, and a badly stuffed one at that.
“Sorry, matey,” said the man in a deep and gravelly voice that seemed at odds with his youthful face. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”
“Then why did you jump out like that!” yelled Danny.
The man thought about this for a moment. “Okay, fine, I did mean to scare you, but it just gets so boring in here,” he said, his pirate accent giving way to a Bristolian twang. “You’re the first customer we’ve had all day. All week, actually.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Danny, kneading his heart.
“Seriously, I think I would have gone mad by now if I didn’t have Barry to keep me company.”
“Barry?”
The man nodded at the parrot on his shoulder.
“Right,” said Danny.
“What can I do for you anyway?” said the man.
“I’m looking for—”
“No, wait, let me guess. I’m usually pretty good at this. Let’s see, it’s too late for Easter, it’s too early for Halloween, it’s definitely too early for Christmas, which means that you want a costume for… a tarts and vicars party!”
“No, I’m—”
“Cops and robbers? It’s cops and robbers, isn’t it?”
“No—”
“Murder mystery?”
“Look—”
“Got it!” said the man with a click of his fingers. “You’re looking for a jumpsuit for your sister’s disco-themed birthday party.”
“I haven’t got a sister,” said Danny.
“Is it a costume funeral by any chance?”
“Is that even a thing?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Look, I don’t want a costume. I’m here about the advert.”
“What advert?”
“In your window,” said Danny. He pointed towards the front of the shop. “For the job.”
“Oh, yes, the job! Sorry, I put that up so long ago that I forgot all about it.”
“Well, you can finally take it down because here I am.” Danny presented himself with a showroom flourish of the hands.
“I really need a woman,” said the man.
“I bet,” said Danny, looking the man up and down.
“No, not me I don’t have any trouble with the ladies. The boss is looking for a woman. For the shop.”
“Where’s the boss?” said Danny, looking around.
The pirate readjusted his eye patch. “I’m the boss,” he muttered.
“Right,” said Danny. He shook his head and turned to leave.
“You want to leave your number?” said the man.
“What for?” said Danny.
The man shrugged. “Maybe we can go for a pint sometime. You know, the three of us.” The man nodded again at Barry.
Danny pointed to the street. “I really have to go,” he said, backing out of the shop.
The man sighed as he watched the door creak shut behind Danny.
“Nice one, Barry,” he said.
Barry said nothing.
* * *
Danny came home that evening to find Will on the couch watching television and a letter on the table. Fearing it might be another bill, Danny ignored it while he changed out of his “work” clothes, took a long shower, and made himself a cup of tea—three things he always did when he used to work on the building site, and three things he’d continued to do in order not to arouse suspicion—before collapsing into the armchair and peeling open the envelope, carefully, as if it might explode.