‘Look, can I at least see that you get home okay? I’ll get a taxi with you?’
‘That’s kind of you, but no, I’m fine.’
And I did feel fine, within reason. This man’s calm presence had to get credit for that.
‘Well, at least give me your number,’ he suggested. ‘And I’ll give you mine. Then text me when you’re home so I know you really are fine.’
As I took my phone from my bag, the man held the napkin full of ice against my cheek, keeping the fresh wound cool. At the far end of the bar, I could see Katie and the girls helping themselves to a bottle of vodka served with sparklers, the bar’s signature birthday treat. I wasn’t going to be the person to bring the mood down. I’d take Katie for lunch next week, apologise for leaving so abruptly.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘Thank you for … I dunno, saving me.’
He blushed, which I found rather sweet. ‘You’re very welcome,’ he said.
I headed towards the elevator, pressed the button, waited. In the last few minutes, whilst enduring unbearable pain and complete humiliation, I had felt lighter than usual, a gentle atmosphere of safety encompassing me.
I heard the man’s voice again.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’ he asked.
The elevator pinged open.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, shall I come down to the lobby with you, and then, when you’re safe inside a taxi, you can decide whether or not you want me to go with you?’
I smiled. ‘Yes.’
As the elevator doors closed, the man put his arms gently around me.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
‘Gregory. Nick Gregory.’
14
Jim
I look across at Zara. She’s gone pale, taking deep breaths.
‘Do you need me to pull over?’ I ask.
‘What? Why?’
‘You look like you’re gonna be sick.’
‘Likewise.’
‘Look, just don’t be sick in me car, alright?’
For some reason, this makes her laugh and she has the cheek to give me an ‘aye aye captain’ with salute.
‘Boys and their toys,’ she says to herself, all smug, although loud enough for me to hear.
I’m seething, but I don’t respond. It’s sounds daft, but yeah, I want her to think I’m just a boy and this BMW is my little toy. Not her, specifically. I couldn’t give a flying fuck about what she thinks. But in general. I want the whole world to think it. I want it to be my truth. I want to be genuinely only annoyed that my car’s had a bash up and it’s going to be a pain in the arse to get it sorted, but life goes on. It’ll get sorted. Worse things happen at sea and so on.
But. FUCK.
This isn’t my truth, is it?
For me, this is a shipwreck. I’m a grown man with a lost chance, not a boy with a toy. Not that it’s easier being the latter. Not in my experience, anyway.
My sisters are both older, Lisa by seven years and Emma by five.
Growing up was like watching a telly show where they starred as a double act, me always on the other side of the glass, admiring, listening. Whatever I suggested – playing MouseTrap, watching Fraggle Rock – it got dismissed with a big ruffle of my hair and an ‘Ah, he’s so cute,’ sometimes from Lisa, mostly from Emma. They were a force. And I was blown away by them.
My ma took on three cleaning jobs to pay for their tap and ballet lessons. I was dragged along, but not to dance. I was too young to be left home alone. I had to sit and wait amongst the other mothers and bored siblings, in the cloakroom of the church hall, the tinkle of an out-of-tune piano seeping through the wall. The newsagents across the road became my saviour.
It was there I found a hobby.
I’d seen an advert on the telly for a magazine about maps of the world. Each week, the edition came attached with a little clear bag of plastic pieces and stickers, all part of building your own globe. Collecting all twelve editions meant completing the globe, the final piece allowing it to spin on its axis. My pocket money had gone up from one to two pounds since Emma and Lisa began dancing, my dad sneaking the extra quid my way with a wink and a shush behind my ma’s back. And the magazine cost just that: two pounds a week.
So I began collecting.
Every Tuesday, as Emma and Lisa fought their way to be first into the church hall, I’d stop, look, listen and think, cross the road and buy my magazine. Then, curled up beside the metal radiator, its paint chipped and peeling onto the cold, tiled floor of the cloakroom, I’d read it from cover to cover, completing the wordsearch, the spot the difference, the weekly quiz; one time on rivers, another on mountains. Keeping the little clear bag safe in my coat pocket, I waited until I got home to build my globe, slotting the new piece into place.
During week seven of the collection, I went to Snowy’s after school for tea. Snowy was allowed out on his bike before mealtimes and gave me a ‘seater’ as we rode through the estate. Snowy pulled up outside the off-licence. We both went inside, Snowy scratching his skinny ribs and complaining about being ravenous.
‘But your ma’s got the tea on,’ I said.
‘Me ma’s stingy with the potatoes,’ Snowy said. And he bought a Toffee Crisp and two cans of 7Up. ‘You should get some fodder, mate, or you’ll be starving.’
I had my two quid, all ready to buy my magazine the following day. A packet of crisps wasn’t going to break the bank. I could ask my dad for it when he got home. So, I chose some beef Space Raiders.
‘10p, love,’ the girl on the till said.
I handed over a quid, got ninety pence change.
That night, after Snowy’s ma dropped me off, I found my ma and my dad in the kitchen arguing. My dad told me to go up to my room. I took the glass from my sock drawer, and turning it upside down on the carpet, ear to the glass, I listened through the floorboards. They weren’t arguing. They were talking about Maggie bloody Thatcher. My dad had lost his job, again.
The extra 10p was never asked for.
At the newsagents, I picked up the seventh edition of the magazine, took it to the counter. Keeping my fingers crossed behind my back, I handed over my money. I believed that a stroke of luck, or kindness, might just be on my side.
‘You’re 10p short,’ the lady said.
‘I haven’t got it.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I bought some Space Raiders. Yesterday.’
‘Well, you’d better choose something else,’ she said. ‘Something you can afford.’
So, I chose a comic. And a can of Coke. And enough penny sweets in a paper bag to take me up to the exact amount I had to spend; one pound and ninety pence. I sat beside the radiator and read the comic, ignoring the dot-to-dot and feeling sick from all the sugar.
The following week, the newsagents were only selling the eighth edition. I’d never get the seventh piece to my globe. So I gave up collecting the magazines and started reading paperbacks instead. I kept my globe – just over half of it, unable to spin on its axis – on my shelf, most countries visible, the Pacific Ocean entirely missing.
The dancing lessons paid off for my sisters. When Lisa landed the job dancing on a cruise ship, Emma followed a year later. Both girls sailed all four corners of the globe before settling in the port they started in; Fort Lauderdale, Florida.