Bread to the Birds

Bread to the Birds
By Geoffrey Smith

Two of the drakes tensed visibly as the October wind swept ripples
sheeting across the lake. To Joe it looked a shivering thing, cold,
dispassionate, and still. His own body shivered too, but as a whole,
the ducks paid little tribute to it; one or two of them braced a bit,
sure, but mostly they'd just keep on about their business with little
regard to the world beyond the banks. You had to hand it to them. They
had stamina. Joe eased himself down onto the bench, watching. He took a
piece of gum from his pocket and placed it in his mouth. He had
recently given up smoking, and well, to be honest he had struggled
through every moment. He did feel better for it though. It was getting
on for two weeks now, and his sense of self-content was swelling daily.
Still, he had told no one. He enjoyed his breaks by the lake, the
feeding of ducks, that was the thing. It was something that gave him
pleasure, so he had kept his success to himself. If he had not, then
word would've reached the manager; it was a near certainty. It wasn't
that he lacked trust. After all, he loved the people he worked with.
They were on the whole, a very nice crowd, and they weren't
deliberately spiteful, not at all. But fitness professionals can
sometimes be unforgiving, he thought, especially concerning cigarettes.
Ah, but all this was rubbish. Of course it was. He was worried he'd
take it up again. That was what it really was. After all, two weeks is
not a long time. A smoker does not a non-smoker make, not in two weeks,
and Rome wasn't built in a day, or even thirteen for that matter. He
needed these breaks by the lake, and the ducks needed him too. Okay, so
maybe they didn't exactly need him, but he did what he could. Perhaps
when they left? Then he would tell about the smoking, but until then...
The gum was starting to lose its flavour.

From the polythene bag at his side, he produced the first of five
staling seeded baps. He held it in his left hand, and then with his
right, he performed the ritual breaking of bread. He selected a bird
and threw with an aim intended to save an ugly m?l?e from ensuing. He
was not always successful. That was the thing about ducks, he thought.
They're all so damned competitive. He wondered whether they lived
together from need or from desire. If the world were made of lakes,
would they go their separate ways? Certainly, it was not an easy
existence. For though a duck knows that bread may fall from the sky, it
knows too the separateness of its own stomach - and no one ever said
you'd get your fair share. Of course, given a decent grab of genes,
there's no reason you shouldn't take a bit more than that. But it was
the women that Joe felt for. He'd always try and make sure that the
ladies got more than the showier drakes if he could. Those poor hens,
they had it tough all right, especially tough at this time of year; it
was the middle of partnering season. The drakes start getting all
amorous you see, amorous and jealous, and vicious with it. To be fair,
most of them were just plain desperate, outnumbering the hens as they
did. But sometimes you'd see a drake cross the line and make a sly move
on a hen that's jabbing her bill back at him almost before she knows
what's about -and a love struck drake almost never takes a hint. So one
thing will lead to another, and then before you know, you've got eight
or nine of these under-sexed drakes, all in pursuit of just the one
hen, and they all give chase, and they chase her hard. And then when
they catch her, well, they're not only rough with each other, if you
take the point. That was the thing about ducks. It was a pure
competition, frantic, natural, and perfect. It should've been great,
but somehow it never quite seemed to work right. The big ducks, they
never really got any bigger, and as for the little ones, well, you
didn't like to think. Joe was just glad to be human, greying, and
comfortably overweight.

**$$**

I was working the desk at reception. Being straight with you, I ain't
that keen on this meet and greet stuff -it's too bloody fiddly. Well I
say that, but I don't mind when I'm covering for Joe, but you know what
I mean, yeah? And I do know a bit about computers and that, so I'm not
out my depth on the till. I'm gonna do PC maintenance at college next
year. Well you got-to 'int ya? That's how you make your money
-computers and that -new technology. It's just that here, well, it's
all just fiddlin' about, you know, like if it's a cheque, or card, or
cash (like I care), and these tills too, they don't forgive you
nothing, not ever. And they won't let you go back and change things.
They only make 'em like this to stop you nicking -and that don't work.
It just makes it all such a pain, y'know? Everything's a labour
nowadays innit?

Joe'd been gone about two minutes when me first customer comes along.
She looks about fifty, ordinary looking, nothing special. Well first
off yeah, she says she wants entry for three, which is fine, but she's
got these two kids with her, and the boy (he's about twelve), says he
don't want to go in, so when I give her the cost she says she only
wants two. It pisses me off when they chop and change like that, but
y'know, I smiled. I said, "Certainly, madam". I took the cash off her
for the two, and off she goes. Fine, I thought. I had a quick squiz at
Joe's paper but he reads the bloody FT dun'he? -so that didn't take
long. It don't matter anyway, cos it was then, when I looked up, that I
first clocked this girl. She was standing at the glass-panelled door
(the inner set, yeah), holding it open with her heel. I looked at her.
She had this sports bag (I couldn't spot the label) laid casual on the
floor at her feet, and this little blue and beige sort of handbag purse
thing, which was open, and dangling from her wrist. She was tapping
text into her mobile. Then she looks up, and she clocks me too. She
smiled at me. Her eyes were smiling at me. I just looked, standing
there, kneading the round edge of the counter with both my hands as she
come towards me.

You get a lot of girls when you work at a leisure centre, so I'm not
easily fazed you know, even when there's no one else around. But this
one, well, I thought she was fucking perfect -like a model. I told her.
She was a brunette, yeah? Now I'm not one of them fellas that's
bothered about colour that much, but I do like nice hair, and hers was
nice. She had these lovely golden veins running through it, a real
class job, and a cracking pair of tits. She had on this kind of beige
hoody (they call it stone in the catalogue). It was quite baggy, but
you could still see the mounds right enough, all shapely, smooth, and
full. I mean, you can tell when it's the bra doing the work can't ya?
Her eyes were gems an'all. I forget the colour, but they were real
smilers. I just wanted to cut her out, mount her on cardboard, and prop
her up, right there and then. I said she could feature in our next
sales drive. I said she could give me her number -I might let her in
for free. She smiled then. It felt good. I felt really fucking good -we
were getting on great! -an' I was that close to a score when the old
crow from before comes marching back over, practically shoves this girl
out the way, and starts banging on at me about receipts or something.
The girl caught my eye. She was on tiptoes, raising her eyebrows. God,
she looked sweet! She tilted her head towards the changing area and I
give her the nod. I could not believe this bloody woman. Bloody stupid
old crow. I told her. I told her I must've give her the receipt
already, but she says I haven't. She says she always gets a receipt for
everything she pays for. Probably gets a receipt from the shitter
an'all, I thought. Well anyway, I put her two through the till and I
slap her ticket down on the counter. I give her a smile I didn't mean.
She snaps the ticket away like (I'd barely let it go), and then she
gives me this really dirty look, like real evil stuff, y'know? I don't
know why. It's not like I overcharged her or nothin'.

I suppose I'd better tell you about this counter I work at (well it's
Joe's counter really, but you know what I mean). Well, it's just a
couple of chipboard slabs really, except they've put that dark marble
covering on it for that corporate look, yeah? My dad reckons there's a
load of money in leisure centre d?cor, cos it's all custom done and
that, none of your flat-pack shit. He said he was going to set himself
up in business doing just this kind of thing once. He says a lot of
stuff, my dad. Telling the truth, he says a lot about a lot of things,
without actually doing any of 'em, if you know what I mean? Anyway,
this counter: it's on two levels, yeah? There's the upper level where
customers do their stuff, all out in the open, and all above board, and
then we (the staff) do all our stuff with the computer (which is fitted
flush) down below. I'm told it gives a professional sheen to the
leisure experience. Makes it look like you're doing more than you
really are's more like. Well anyway, at the end of the counter there's
this hinged bit we use to get in and out of. It doubles up for taking
money off little kids and wheelchair cases, so that's down on the lower
level, yeah? Well obviously, I was wanting to see if that girl was
still about. I hadn't got any customers, so I was just gonna lift up
the hatch and peek out across the recreation zone to see if she was
still there, y'know, if she was waiting for me. She could've been
waiting for me, y'know; sometimes they do. The thing was, I never
actually got that far, cos just as I come to lift up the hatch, I saw
it sitting there on the hinged bit, tight against the side of the upper
level. Well, well, well, I thought, now what 'ave we got 'ere then?
-and being honest I felt a bit of a rush too, cos there it was. Sitting
there, right in front of me eyes. It was that little blue and beige
handbag. Her bag, from before -it was like fucking fate or
something!

It's crazy yeah, but the thing is, it's actually policy to open up
handbags and purses, so I didn't feel bad about doing it. When it comes
to handbags and purses, we got-to nose about a bit. That way we've got
ready questions about the contents, y'know, like if someone reckons
it's theirs an'that. People'll try and scam anything nowadays. Being
honest, I couldn't help myself; I had a right good nose. I found out
the girls name: Rachel. She's twenty (driving licence) and she works
for a major high street bank (company tag). You've got to have more
than one question yeah, cos they might say what their name is when
they're doing their opening spiel, and it don't look too good
scratching round in someone's purse for second question, not when they
can see you doing it anyway.

Right, well I'm a clued up guy, y'know. I don't miss a lot, so you
won't be surprised I clocked her mobile pretty quick. It was a sort of
an arctic blue one, not the latest model, but still nice. About the
same sort of spec as mine is, yeah? I think she was on a different
network though. I forget which one but it weren't the same. The really
dumb thing that happened next though, was I took her phone out the bag
and set it down on top of Joe's paper, right in front of me on the
desk. It was a crazy risk really, and I don't know why I done it. It
was just dumb, stupid. I mean it was stupid unless I was going to nick
it, which I wasn't, so it was really stupid, just plain dumb. I was
lucky though, cos it was so quiet and that, and there weren't no
customers as saw me. I just sat there, staring at this bloody phone,
looking at it, thinking, daydreaming really. I'd been that close to a
score. Well, y'know, I'd put the work in hadn't I? And the girl,
Rachel, she'd wanted to give me her number. She must've done. She took
the free entry, didn't she? She did. She took that quick enough. I kept
running my fingers over the keypad. Not pressing nothing, just sliding
'em over the raised buttons, letting 'em tickle the tips of me fingers.
Where the fuck was Joe? He'd been a bloody age. Must be a hell of lot
of ducks about, that's all I could think. That Beaky though, he's funny
old fella. I mean, you never really feel like you know him, y'know? He
seems pretty straight and all (he seems really bloody straight), and
he's happy enough -sort of even-tempered, yeah? Could teach the old man
a thing or two there -but that ain't the problem. The silly old fella
just don't add up, that's the problem. I mean he does add up; he's
always counting an'that. But it was like, he reckoned he used to work
at the mines (audit or something), that he'd invested his redundancy in
the stocks and shares an'that. He reckoned he'd done very well thank
you. According to him, he don't actually need to work no more, what
with his house being paid for an' that. Tall bloody story, I thought. I
mean, if I'd made my money on the stocks and shares, you wouldn't see
me round here for dust! No fucking chance! I just don't quite buy it,
y'know? He's a nice enough bloke mind, once you get chatting to him.
You get past all that straightness and decency and then you find out
he's actually okay. You can even trust him, well sort of, as much as
you can trust anyone that is, even if he is a duck lover!

**&;&;**

It took about twenty minutes for Joe to distribute the baps he'd got
from the girl who worked the caf?. Things looked quiet so he'd been
taking his time. The girl had been happy to let Joe take as much as he
wanted. They would've only thrown the stale bread away, so it wasn't
like he was stealing anything. It was good of her though; she was a
nice kid, that one. So many people in this world are not so pragmatic
about things like stale bread -items of negligible commercial value.
Susan would've had him pay for it if she knew -to be prosecuted for the
embezzlement of baps, now that was a notion. He would've been prepared
to argue his corner about the bread of course, but still he was glad of
not having to. He did so hate waste. The ducks had worked themselves up
into a fervour by now, and were making one hell of a racket as they
quacked, rasping, and discordant, and fighting over the final scraps.
Every day they came out as if they were witnessing a miracle, and every
day they fought. They were a pugnacious bunch all right, but you had to
admit they were actually pretty sweet. Certainly they weren't
charmless, not at all. But he'd finished the feeding for now, and so
stuffing the empty polythene bag into the pocket of his coat, he swung
himself up and onto his feet.

A few minutes earlier, he had seen the woman who lived up his road walk
past with her two kids. They often chatted together when she popped in
on a Tuesday evening. He had come to consider her as a friend and was a
little disappointed to have missed her. She was a divorcee like
himself, and her name was Mrs J.Duple (he had read it from her debit
card once when she'd been short). He did not yet know what the J stood
for; he'd always addressed her simply as 'Mrs Duple'. He'd hoped that
it might be Julie, or perhaps Jane, or indeed anything but Joanne, or
Joanna. 'Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Mr Joe Merchant, and his
lovely wife -Jo'. It was silly to speculate like this. He would have to
ask her. It would not seem unreasonable to do so. She certainly seemed
to like him. There was no doubt of that. He had waved when she passed
by, but she had not seen him. Perhaps she would stop by later for a few
words before she left the premises.

There was no reason why Mrs Duple should not want to talk to Joe. After
all, he looked good for fifty-eight, and well, he was doing all right,
doing better every day too. He was not a rich man by any means, but he
had achieved a certain level of acumen and he was proud of it. The
thing was, with money, once you'd got a bit together, making more was
really just a question of diligence. You kept an eye on things and you
did all right. Of course you had to be careful with these newer
financial products. Familiarity, he thought, was the key. "Read
everything, understand it, and you'll not go far wrong. Just don't get
too greedy!" that would be Joe's advice to friends, and that would be
near enough his only advice. "If your going to be good at money, you
have got to learn its ways, and for that you need interest, and then
most of all, you have to keep your eye on things. Keep up and follow
till the money follows you, and it will once you know where you're
going", he'd say. Joe turned his key in the lock. He smiled at the
clamorous file of ducks that had followed him up to the door. He
wondered whether it was mere want of bread that brought them trooping
behind him time after time, or if it could be something else.

He gave the door a shove and followed his momentum into the building.
The staff entrance was really nothing more than an area of grey carpet,
from which you could access reception, and the staff locker rooms. Joe
always kept the door to reception wedged open. It was a common
practice. All of the staff did this except for Susan. No one really
liked reception and the door being open at least made distraction just
that little bit more likely. Joe of course, liked reception very much.
He enjoyed his work, but he too liked to see the comings and goings,
the chat and the patter, especially when it was quiet like this. The
door was propped open now as Joe looked up. He knew he'd been longer
than he really should've been, but thought that Lee wouldn't mind that
much. He was a good kid that one. Okay, well maybe he was not always
good, but certainly he was not without charm. He did not get around to
thanking the boy though, because as he looked up he saw Lee jump with a
fright, stuffing what looked like something into a very feminine
looking blue and beige handbag. He was like a kid caught with his hand
in the sweet jar. Silly, startled, young Lee Harding was trying to
behave as if nothing unusual had occurred. Joe kept his coat on. He
walked across to where Lee was standing, at the far end of the
counter.

"Whose is the bag?"

"Lost property. I dunno. I think it's a woman. I wrote it down", Lee
pushed a scrap of paper in Joe's direction. "I wrote it down for when
she comes, you know, so you know it's hers an'that."

"Okay. Thanks."

As Joe looked at the details that Lee had written with an unusual,
almost loving neatness on a piece of scrap paper, Lee picked up the bag
and fiddled with the contents a little, before zipping it shut and
laying back down on the bottom tier of the counter. All of this he did
with that self-conscious attempt at nonchalance, which can never go
completely unnoticed.

"There you go. Good as new. I'll leave it under there yeah? Alright
Joe?" Lee was already lifting the hatch and easing himself through the
gap.

"What...oh right yes. Thank you Lee, for covering, I mean -the ducks.
You don't have to rush off you know? It's so quiet."

"Nah. I'd better open up the slide, mate. See ya later, yeah?"

And then Lee Harding was gone. Joe watched him as he waved a signal to
the guard at the far corner of the pool, then unhitched the chain that
served as a gate to the waterslide. It was then that Mrs Duple's
twelve-year-old son spotted Joe at his desk and ambled over for a chat.
He had discovered that watching his mother and sister swim in a near
empty pool was not nearly so entertaining as he might've once
imagined.

**$$**

The bloody stupid thing was that I didn't even get to check my phone
till later. Being straight, I half wished I'd ballsed it up. I hadn't
mind. Course I hadn't, but you know how it is. Why the hell did I tell
him that stuff about the slide? It's the one thing they don't mind us
neglecting. Randall reckons it's a waste of power anyway. But there you
go. I'd gone and committed myself to it now, which meant I was stuck
there at the top of that bloody red slide with the same five or six
kids going round, and round, and bloody well round again. The worst
thing was, Rachel weren't even in the pool. If she had been, I could've
looked. I could've looked at her, watched her, y'know? Not only that, I
could've followed up all that good work I done at the desk before. If
Rachel was in the pool, I would've got her number anyway. Course I
would. I mean, you know when you're close don't you? But she weren't in
the pool. She was definitely not there. Must've gone downstairs to the
gym. Shit. If I hadn've gone and committed myself -I could've sussed
out where she was. I could've gone down there on cleaning, with a mop
or something.

You can still see reception from the top of the slide, what with it
being up high and all. So I could see old Beaky and he could see me.
Yeah, and he saw me all right; he kept looking at me. At least, he kept
trying to look. He still had the odd customer to deal with and the old
crow's boy, who kept bothering him with something or other. The nosey
old bastard, I thought. Thinks I was on the take. Shit. That's the
trouble though innit? Some people just can't help sticking their great
big beaky noses where they don't belong, can they? That idiot Joe was
bound to say something to Randall. I knew he would. He was so straight;
he couldn't help it if he wanted to. I tried sitting a bit lower in the
chair. After a bit, this girl I know come up the stairway. She's just a
kid really, nice, but a bit young. She said something cheeky. I smiled
and said something back. I give her the all clear. If he said anything
to Randall, I'd deny it. He must know that. Surely he must know that?
That's the trouble with the slide though innit? It makes you think why
solitary is like the worst punishment in prisons cos you find yourself
going a bit bonkers. You start thinking all sorts of paranoid shit. I
ain't never told no one this before, but there's been times when I've
come down from that slide and I'm like crying. I mean like real tears
and everything, silent though, of course. I don't mean 'boo-hooing'
like a baby or nothing.

How you get through it is you think about what you're doing. On slide
duty, that ain't so easy, but it's when your mind wanders you're in
trouble. It helps to imagine the worst, like someone's gonna want an
ambulance any second now. You look for accidents waiting to happen, not
cos you're gonna stop 'em but for the sheer excitement of thinking
about 'em. That was what I did. It was my technique, how I got through
that one hour of my seven hour shift. I don't always do that. Sometimes
I eavesdrop. Other times I flirt with girls. You know the form. Well
let's just say plan A and plan B didn't really hold it for me that day,
so I went with plan C: accidents and injuries. The girl I knew came
round again. She said something else and I smiled. I imagined her
slipping, falling backwards over the barrier, me keeping watch over her
hospital bed. I wondered if she'd have a grateful big sister? Maybe
it'd be Rachel? Now that was a fantasy! I'd be good too, comforting,
consoling. I'd say it was all my fault. She'd say I did everything I
could -the gaze before the kiss. Joe was looking at me again. Why the
hell didn't he just get on with whatever the fuck he had to do? It was
ridiculous. I had my work; he had his, nosey old bastard. I had ready
money to work for. I was doing the right thing, yeah? So why the hell
did he keep looking at me? It was mental yeah, but it weren't 'til then
I realised I hadn't even done anything! I'd done nothing wrong. A man
and a kiddie in front of me. I imagined the doting father tumbling down
the stairway, his boy looking down at him, wondering if it was all a
part of the fatherly entertainment, standing alone, looking, not
knowing whether to laugh or cry.

I never saw Rachel collect her purse. Never saw her leaving neither.
I'd offered to clean out the 'Gents', and yeah, I know it's disgusting.
It's dirty and sticky and it smells, but at least down there you get
some peace, away from all the people that know you and that. Anyway,
it's a job needs doing and someone's got to do it haven't they? Might
as well be me. My Mum reckons there's loads of managing directors and
that as started off with jobs like this. I think she mentioned a
supermarket or something like that, but there's loads of 'em anyway. My
Dad says what don't kill you can only make you stronger, mind he'd had
a bit at the time, and he ain't exactly living proof, is he? What I
mean to say is that just cos I'm cleaning out toilets now, yeah -today,
don't mean I won't have hundreds people working for me tomorrow, or
someday anyways. All I'm saying is, I ain't afraid of dirty work if
that's what it takes. I ain't afraid of work full-stop. Anyway, as I
say, I didn't fancy talking to anyone much.

Didn't even look at Joe when I left; couldn't see the point. Think he
said goodbye to me, but I didn't care. I just put my coat on and left.
Went straight past him. I was alright. On my way home I went down past
the lake. There's ducks in it but they're usually pretty quiet this
time of night. Still, there was one of 'em on the bank near where I
was, so I thought I'd give it a fright. I ran at it, kind of screaming,
watching it panic, all quacking and flapping, swinging its legs like it
really believed it was walking on water. It left a trail of white
ripples fading to nothing in the electric light. After that I just
looked; the moon was lost in the clouds, just a faint glow. I sat down
on Joe's bench and got the mobile out. I turned it on and there it was:
one message. I opened it: |[HELLO BB]|. I smiled then. It had started
to rain, but I didn't care. I was smiling now. I thought it was funny:
'BB' - big boy. I chuckled at my own wit. The raindrops made craters in
the water. I fancied getting drunk, but no one else had called, and I
couldn't be bothered anyway, so I just went home.

I live up on the estates near the centre. It's all right really, just a
big old mass of semis. They're not that bad either, not like some. I
mean the neighbours are okay; it's just a place really. You'll
recognise our house though, cos it's been painted grey of all colours
-even the fucking door! My dad done it last year. Think he was trying
to make a point to Mum, you know, prove his manhood an'that. But it
never really washed cos he roped his mate in to help him, and I reckon
he helped out quite a lot, knowing Dad. I've got no idea where he got
the paint from; he can't have paid for it. Looks like it fell off the
back of a battleship, Navy surplus or something. I'd said if the Queen
was passing she'd have smashed a bottle on it. Dad said she could have
it when he'd finished! He can be pretty canny, my dad, when he
wants.

I was pretty wet when I got in. Mum and Dad were watching some medical
drama downstairs, so I said hello and went upstairs to change. I took
my phone with me of course. I was pretty excited really, y'know? It was
exciting. But there was something inside me as felt a bit sickly, like
deep down in my stomach, yeah? I chucked my soggy gear in the basket.
It was still there though, that feeling. It was like I'd ate too many
sweets, or a fry up on a hangover -something like that. I sat on my bed
in the dark, just my pants on, the mobile glowing in my hand and the
occasional sweep of carlight at the window. I called up the message
again and chose reply. That was when I really felt it, that rising in
your belly when your head feels like it's in a microwave on defrost.
And your breathing, it's like really slow, shallow. Like you don't even
need to breathe, just a habit you fell into. You start to feel -like in
that moment, you've got everything you want in the palm of your hand. I
mean like money, girls, sports cars, everything you want. For one
moment you feel like you're there in that otherworld where things are
what they could be. You're in control -it feels -it feels fucking
fantastic! I looked at the display but I didn't know what to put. Fuck!
What the fuck was I going to put? I put |[U R SXY - BB]| and sent it. I
think I was coming down after that cos I started to feel sick again. I
put the phone on the floor and lay on me bed. I was staring at the
ceiling now, and pounding my fists on the mattress with in time with
the radio. After a bit I rolled over to face the wall. I was half
asleep when the phone went off (it was like about twenty minutes
later). I was more surprised than anything else. Being honest, I think,
you know, like deep down, I didn't really want it to happen by then. It
did happen though. It definitely went off. I heard it. And it was her
too, the girl, Rachel. She'd sent me a text, and the text said,
|[STEVE?]|. I pulled my sloppy gear from the wardrobe and put it on. It
wasn't what I'd expected. I couldn't see as it mattered much though. I
mean, just cos you got someone don't mean you're happy does it? Girls
ain't no more faithful than boys when it comes to it, are they? Fuck, I
know girls who've had more men than fucking periods! I dunno. I took
the conversational tack: |[STEVE UR B/F? BB]|. It seemed like a fair
question. Well anyway I sent it, just to test the water, y'know? I'd
got my foot in the door and that was the main thing innit? It only took
her five minutes to text me back, which had to be a good thing, right?
It said, |[DIKU BB?]|. Well, I've got to admit, that one threw me a
bit. You know, I really thought she knew who I was. Shit. I signed the
text I sent from her phone and everything. She must've remembered me.
We were getting' on great, at the desk, before. Shit! She must've
known. Perhaps she still thought I was this Steve fella? Perhaps she
thought I was Steve, and I was jealous, trying to trip her up or
something. The thing was, I was really stuck about what to send back. I
couldn't just put 'I'm that guy from pool remember?' Fuck that would be
flat! I didn't know, so I put, |[DO U WORK OUT?]|. I dunno. I thought
it might jog her memory yeah -maybe just enough to keep the mystery
going an'all, y'know? I sent it. That was about ten o'clock. I laid
back down on my bed and waited. I waited a bloody long time, being
honest. And I know it was a long time cos I kept looking. I didn't go
to bed till half twelve and I couldn't sleep then; still nothing
happened.

The next day it was still raining and I was pissed off. Rachel still
hadn't replied, and she must've known it was me by now. It was just bad
manners. That was the thing. I didn't even bother with breakfast, just
went to work. That was what got me though; it was just fucking bad
manners, weren't it? I thought perhaps she'd run out of credit on her
phone, but I knew she hadn't. I got on with my work. There I was,
standing guard at the Jacuzzi and I thought it was fucking bad manners.
Maybe she'd got cold feet and was too scared to tell me? It was
probably something like that. I tried not to think about it. Y'know,
sometimes I wish I had a job where you get to do stuff instead of just
standing around like this. The passing of time, it's painful. You stand
there like you're supposed to, and that's fucking hard. You make
conversation, and that's fucking even harder. Everything's a fucking
labour, every fucking thing. I am not gonna do this forever.

**&;&;**

It was Thursday afternoon when Joe next strolled in to work, and Lee
Harding was still avoiding him. It was all becoming rather silly. The
other guards were more grudging about his little breaks too, but it was
something more than that to Joe. He just wanted to talk to the boy.
This whole thing was crazy. Joe watched Lee pass by without looking
back. Joe was not a tall man by any stretch, and not prone to temper,
but there was a part of him that wanted to give that kid a damn good
shake. If he had known what the problem was it might've helped, but he
was clueless and felt helpless. It had something to do with that girl's
bag; he knew that. That was not the issue though. He just wanted to
talk to the boy, not about the bag or the girl or anything. He just
wanted to talk. This was silly. It wasn't good manners on the boy's
part; that was true. But it was more than that. This whole thing was a
disappointment to Joe. He liked Lee. Lee was a good kid and it saddened
him to be mistrusted. He started his third count of the day. Counts and
checks permeated the empty spaces in Joe's shifts. Generally, he quite
enjoyed the activity but today it felt rather empty. Still, no one was
going to accuse him of not being thorough. No one had yet, and no one
would now. There was a group booking penned in for five o'clock and he
would meet it with smile and a clean balance.

But Joe did not complete his checks that day. He had not even tallied
his credit card slips when Lee's girl from Tuesday came through the
doors. She was accompanied by a shorthaired man in his late twenties,
well built and stocky, but still slightly taller than Joe himself. The
man holds the door for her to pass through, but before she reaches the
counter, he is back in front. He leads with his hand and he leans on
the counter.

"Get the manager down here, pal."

"Can I help you with anything, Sir?"

"Yeah, you can get the manager down here."

"What should I say is the problem?"

"Believe me pal, you don't want to know what the problem is. Just get
the manager."

Joe tapped the extension code into the phone. "Susan, could you come
down to reception please. We have a customer service issue needing your
attention." He paused, "Yes" then "No, I'm afraid I don't." He replaced
the handset. "She's on her way, sir."

Joe strained a half smile, but the man was not smiling back. He was
leaning against the counter with outstretched arms like he was trying
to push it backwards. The girl was leaning against the wall at the side
of the counter, arms folded, her gaze alternating between the man and
the door through which she had just come. It was bright outside but no
one was speaking. The wave machine had just been activated, and the
space around them filled with the excited yelps of young swimmers and
the sounds of coursing water.

The stairway to Susan's office was on the other side of the building,
so Joe did not see her approaching until she appeared at the side of
the counter. She was a well-built woman of thirty-five. Neither fat nor
thin, nor tall or short, she was nonetheless proud of her achievement
in managing the centre. With some good reason too, for since she had
taken charge, target expenditures had always been met, overtime almost
always worked in lieu, and staff turnover was low. Her success had been
noted at a regional level. When she had accepted the position she had
told herself that the key to successful management was a high profile
on the shop floor, but she had allowed time to erode that ideal, so
that now, to Joe she was almost a phantom presence. He had half
believed she would not show up at all, but then there she was, next to
him, efficiently attired in a dark-grey suit, clipboard in hand.

"Is this the gentleman?" she said to Joe.

"Sorry? Oh. Yes. Yes it is."

Susan turned calmly and surely to face the man, a picture of composure.
"Would you like to come and take a seat, sir?"

"No, we'll sort this out here, thanks."

"Okay. Would you like to tell me what the problem is?"

"I'll tell you what the problem is, darling. One of your staff is
stalking my girlfriend. That's what the problem is. And I want to know
what you're gonna do about it."

Susan took the opportunity to switch her focus. Partly from a sense of
female camaraderie, and partly in seeking a less rambunctious
adversary, she craned her neck to address the girl behind the man.
"Could you tell me exactly what has happened, madam?" The girl looked
to the door.

"Go on then."

The girl exhaled, took a deep breath. "Look", she said, "I left my
purse here on Tuesday afternoon, and while it was gone someone got in
my phone."

"How do you know it happened here?"

"He texted himself. It's in memory. He's texted me quite a few times
actually."

"Okay. Could I see these messages?"

The girl was edgy. Joe could see it. She fumbled nervously in the purse
for her phone. "This one came yesterday", she said, pushing the phone
across the counter. Susan looked at the screen with raised
eyebrows.

"What is SOMY?"

"Sick - of - me - yet."

"I see." She turned to Joe. "Who was on reception on Tuesday,
Joe?"

"I was, Sue. I believe I gave the purse back to the young lady. I
filled out a form. Would you like to check my phone?"

"Would you mind Joe?" At that, Joe disappeared into the male locker
room. It took him little longer to emerge with his phone than his
audience appeared to deem strictly necessary. He noticed the increased
irritation in the posture of the shorthaired man, yet he managed
maintain at least the appearance of tranquillity. He even managed a
smile and a brief raising of the eyebrows, but no one else smiled. He
passed his phone to Sue, who passed it on to the girl. The man stood
between the two women, arms folded.

"Could you get Lee down here, Joe?"

**$$**

There was an announcement on the P.A. I was a bit mystified being
honest, but when you're called, you're called, right? I was at the far
end of the pool doing the wave machine, so it was a bit of a walk. The
guard on the tower looked at me. "You been a naughty boy, again?" I
shrugged. I really didn't know. I saw 'em all soon enough though,
Randall, Beaky, Rachel, and some other bloke. I knew what it was about
then. It felt like the ground was moving under me, bringing 'em closer.
Shit. They kept getting bigger, clearer. Shit, I thought. That other
bloke must be Steve. He was bigger, older than I thought he'd be. Last
night he left a message on my voicemail. Well, I guess it was him.
Course it was him. Anyway, it weren't pretty, I'll tell you that for
free. The four of 'em, standing there like I dunno, rocks, like rocks
beyond the shoreline, daring the fucking waves to reach that high.
Fucking shit. I climbed the steps. I felt my insides trying to climb
out my throat. Everything about me said, 'Run! Run!' I couldn't fucking
run! Fuck that! How stupid would I look if I did? I hadn't done nothing
wrong anyway, not really wrong. And so what? Even if I had, it weren't
no one else's fucking business, was it? That's the trouble though
innit? Some people just can't help sticking their great big bloody
noses where they don't belong. But so fucking what? I weren't beat yet.
Oh no. I weren't gonna roll over and die, give 'em their fucking half
pound of flesh. I don't think so. I mean, what did they want from me
anyway? That fucking bloke kept staring at me. I kept looking at
Rachel. She had the sun on her face. She was looking out through the
glass-panelled door with the sun on her face, the sun in her
hair.

"What's up Joe?" Randall was there but I ignored her cos it was Joe as
made the announcement.

"Do you know these people Lee?" she says, like I was speaking to
her.

"No", I said like it was the stupidest question I'd ever heard.

"What about", she looks at her clipboard, "Rachel here; do you know
her?"

"Never seen her before in my life" I says, and she's looking at me now
all right, and I'm thinking about having cakes and eating 'em. Then the
bloke chips in.

"Oh come off it pal", he says. "We know it was you", he says. "I'm this
close to doing something I'll regret", he says. It was no fucking
business of his anyway, I thought. So I gave him this really blank
stare, just to piss him off. He threw his hands in the air. She was
looking out the door again. The man turns to Randall.

"Get his phone", he says. And I'm thinking the game's up now, but then
out of nowhere there's Joe's voice.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking to him for", he says, "I
was the one that served the young lady. It was me who found the bag,
and me who gave it back. I'm afraid Lee was never anywhere near it. If
someone has accessed the young lady's phone then it couldn't possibly
have been from here." He was looking at Rachel now. "I can only suggest
that perhaps you may've made some mistake about the time?"

It was fucking priceless! A cast iron miracle! Never thought the old
boy had it in him. Straight as a die, I do not think! And Rachel too,
she gave him such an evil stare. Then she turned on me with this really
bizarre look, like not even hate, but pure desperation. I felt quite
sorry for her being honest. I really did. For a fraction of a second, I
actually thought I might come clean. But I'm not playing that game. I
couldn't play that game anyway. I'd come too far, y'know? So I just
rode it. I stood there with her looking at me -like that. Then Randall
cuts back in.

"Is that possible? Could you have mistaken the time?" she says, like
she was trying to steal back the floor, but I don't think anyone was
really listening. Rachel looked like she was gonna fucking cry or
something, just looking at me. Then she looks at Randall.

"Just forget it!" She is upset. She turns, ploughing through the bodies
of the five o'clock swim club, then out into the sinking winter sun.
The man follows like he was on a piece of string or something. But
then, as he reaches the door, he turns back and points at me.

"The police'll be hearing about you, boy", he says. "Just watch your
back. Watch your fucking back!" Then he was gone. Police, I thought. As
if!

The kids from the swim club were all staring at us like it was the
greatest show on Earth. Randall just taps her biro, looks at us both
and says, "Right. I believe you boys have got work to do, so unless
you've got any more problems?" Neither of us speak. "Right. Then I'll
leave you to it." And she walks off all prim and proper like a conflict
resolved with minimal paper shuffling was proof of her fucking
diplomacy.

Being straight though, I was not feeling particularly good about
myself. I mean, there was the adrenaline sure, and it was good of Joe
to help me out and all but I was not feeling good. I don't like
upsetting people. People think I do but I really don't. What can you do
about it though? What can you do about guilt? You can't turn the
fucking clock back that's for sure.

"Are you feeling all right?" Joe says.

"Yeah. Listen. Thanks Joe, for -you know." He just kind of half smiled
and nodded his head. Then he turned to greet the kids from the swim
club.

**&;&;**

It was nine twenty-five that night, and Joe was checking off the
security sheet. Everyone was leaving now. Joe liked to say goodbye to
everyone that he could, and tonight was no exception, but when he saw
Lee Harding coming out of the locker room, he shouted, "Lee!" and Lee
Harding turned. Joe beckoned him over. Lee shrugged and looked
quizzical but Joe beckoned him over again.

"What's up Joe?"

Joe reached into the pocket of his coat. He pulled out Lee's phone, and
pushed it firmly into the younger man's hand.

"I, I mean, erm, when I went to the locker room, to get my phone. I
borrowed it -so they wouldn't. I just thought, you know, that if I was
going to say...I didn't want to cause more trouble than I saved ...
Okay? I mean ... for anyone."

Lee appeared faintly amused at Joe's sudden lack of eloquence. He was
almost smiling. "Okay, yeah, thanks Joe." He looked as if it was all he
could do to hold back a laugh, or at least a smirk -the nice kind of
smirk.

"Good. Good. Okay then." Joe was beginning to feel comfortable again
now, almost his old self again. "Well, I suppose I'll see you on Sunday
then." Then he patted Lee on the back, and returned his attention to
nightly security. It had been fifteen days since his last
cigarette...