A Day Trip

The entire cafe was empty except for a bored looking waitress and
two men. One tall, gaunt, dressed in a once-stylish leather jacket and
faded jeans signalled to the waitress. She picked up the coffee pot and
slouched over. With all the enthusiasm of a rock she filled their cups
and melted away into the background of filthy tables, air so greasy you
could fry it and the incessant sound of Shit FM.
"Is she a Desdemona on an Ophelia?" asked the one in the leather
jacket.
"She's an Ophelia, no question about it" replied the other, looking
sideways at the space where the waitress once was. He had a young face,
with eyes that were never satisfied and hair that was seemingly on
strike from being styled. Clad in a black trenchcoat and morose brown
cords he idly fingered his rapidly-diminishing cigarette for a brief
moment then stubbed it out in a dramatic flourish that Laurence Olivier
would have buggered his grandmother for. Then, with a sob, "And she's
lost. She's another fucking lost Ophelia".
"Will, calm it. You always get like this when we're around women you
want to save. Here, have this. On me." offered the other, kindly. He
looked furtively around and reached into one of the bottomless pockets
of his jacket. After a momentary rustle he withdrew a small foil wrap.
Will reached out and took it, grateful acceptance in his eyes.
"Dan...thanks, man. Seriously - thanks." His voice almost cracked as a
ray of light seemed to shoot from his eyes as two square tabs
emblazoned with the Batman insignia were revealed.
"One each" Dan said. It was a simple statement, not a request of a
command. But Will had already placed one under his tongue and slid the
other across the filthy table.

Dan and Will stared at each other and blinked. Sparks leapt from Will's
eyes as he excitedly grabbed his still-steaming porcelain mug and
downed the contents as he leaned forward, both palms flat on the table,
sweating like a politician in a playground.
"I've got it. Another note. H. Those fucking scales, Aolian, Phrygian,
Dorian, even Lydian, all nothing. But with H, this
proto-quasi-semi-graphic-tonal-audibility will just fly, and that's the
noise in my head. H." He tapped his temples, took a breath the resumed
his babbling "I know you know too. I know! Stick your fingers in your
ears, hold your breath and just listen. That...that is H. Just because
those primitive instruments can't pick it up, does that mean it doesn't
exist? The octave can just...fuck off." His hands were waving wildly
now, making big fish, little fish, cardboard boxes as he explained
'it', his eyes madly focussed on Dan's mind. Then, serenely, "Christ
yes. We'll sort this, melody will be language, rhythm and speech.
Revo-" a dramatic pause, "-lution." He slapped the table and picked up
a salt shaker. Holding it between thumb and forefinger at eye level he
squinted.
"See this? This, this is the instrument of the future." He rapped it
on the edge of the table, held it up to his ear and shut his eyes.
"Magic." He sat back.

A tear rolled down Dan's left cheek as he sat motionless. His eyes
followed the movement of the salt shaker, and he winced as it struck
the table. With a violent lunge he snatched it away from Will.
"Stop!" he screamed. No one looked round, since no one else was in
there. Will stared dumbly, his drug-addles brain playing catch up with
its sparring partner, that slippery fish Reality. Dan cradled the small
glass object, and lovingly rubbed it's top.
"What do you think you're doing you evil bastard?" he wailed. "What
are you, a fucking monster?" Will's mouth fell open. "Don't you know
the penalties for hurting children?! They'll lock you up! I've seen
pictures of what they do to people like you in there! You ever touch
Kevin again and..."
"K...Kevin?" Will gingerly enquired.
"YES!" yelled Dan, brandishing the salt shaker. "Kevin! You must not
hurt him or you'll get done. Poor bugger's an orphan, can't you have
some compassion?" He then placed Kevin carefully in his pocket. "C'mon,
let's get out of this place."

Dan, Will and Kevin got up. The bright red of the ketchup bottles was
almost overpowering for Will, and clapping his hands over his ears to
stop the awful noise he stumbled, whimpering to the door. Dan was much
more serene, happily watching the light bulbs dancing their cosmic
ballet. He stepped over Will, who was by now crouched down snivelling
on the floor and clawing at the door. His legs were kicking pitifully
against nothing as he pushed himself against the door, abject terror in
his eyes.
"Get...get it away from me!" he mumbled, dribble running down his
chin. His shoes were squeaking on the linoleum as he tried to stand up,
and Dan was just too high above him to help. Hang on...why, and how,
was Dan so tall? He'd suddenly become about thirty foot taller, and
Will could clearly remember a time when he was a good few millimetres
nearer the sun than Dan.
"...Dan!" came the low, distant call. "...Da-a-an!" Will saw the
mighty Giant Dan cock his head.
"WHAT?" came the rumbling reply. The small Spitfires buzzing around
Dan's head regrouped and wheeled round again for another pass as the
Taj Mahal was crushed underfoot.
"Throw me a line!" squeaked Will. He was getting rather scared
now.
"Just get up!" ordered Dan in a booming baritone. Will's arms
struggled to find a purchase on the surface of the moon as Dan's
elephantine right hand loomed out of the mist. The Spitfires resumed
formation and decided to return to base as Dan hefted Will to an
alarmingly upright position.
"Thanks, Dan" said Will in a surprised voice. But his mind quickly
moved onto other things. He peered past Dan out of the grimy window at
the broccoli and butter currently marauding outside. He shook his head
- he well remembered that time back in '96 when he'd had a bad
experience with a renegade lump of butter and he did not want to
revisit that horrific moment. Dan patted the pocket containing Kevin -
he had business to attend to. He turned to leave.
"STOP!" yelled Will. Dan obligingly froze. "Wait, wait!" mumbled a
dangerously-overexcited Will, tapping his brain. The sparks had
returned. "A new mode of theatrical staging! Genius! The audience,
right, sits in a square formation, facing out...and the actors act
around them. Each member of the audience won't hear or see every
action, so it's more realistic - you have to use your own experience to
fill the gaps. Just like in 'life' you never have the full picture.
You're going to have to see my plays four times to understand 'em!" He
paused, eyes darting around, beads of inspiration forming on his brow
"and that little Ophelia over there, she'll be a star. My star. Her
star. 'A' star, no matter what. Well?" He waited for Dan to fall to his
knees, sobbing at the sheer brilliance of it, for ticker tape parades
and swooning supermodels.

Dan and Kevin turned and left. Will shrugged, then followed.

They stepped out onto the street in time to see a pat of butter float
menacingly past. Will shuddered, but retained his composure. Wading
through the freshly sprouted broccoli, Dan, Will and Kevin kept their
eyes peeled for potential peddlers as they shimmied through the heaving
mass of snails. After catching an open-backed submarine to Verona, Dan
turned to Kevin and fixed him with a piercing stare.
"Yes?" enquired Kevin, icily.
"Oh, " said Dan, with the air of a lawnmower eyeing up a fresh blade
of grass "...wait a second, how did you do that?"
"Do what?"
"You spoke to me without moving your lips!" cried Dan, peering closely
at Kevin. Kevin made a face at Dan, but he failed to notice his being
mocked by a salt shaker.
"Well, I always thought that, being a table-based utensil, I didn't
actually possess lips. I could, of course, be wrong." said Kevin,
coolly. Dan considered this for a second, then put it down to the
light. "No matter. I was simply wondering when you were going to pay
me?"
"You want payment? What for?" At this point, Will attempted to fit his
left leg between one of the cracks in the pavement.
"What for?! For the toaster of course! Was it that long ago?" Kevin
breathed the sigh of the oppressed. "Sir, I have no idea where you're
on about."
"Not where, what! The damn toaster!" Dan explained with barely
concealed frustration. Here he was, upside down in a bubble in Verona
and Kevin the bastard salt shaker wasn't honouring his debts. "The
toaster I bought for the flat in London."
"London? So where are we now?" enquired Kevin.
"Verona. We rode the submarine from Camden to here. Look at the
fountains. Verona. There are fountains in Verona. That's a fountain.
Ergo," he took a deep breath, "we're in Verona. Look - gentlemen!
Verona. It's not rocket science." Kevin considered this for a second. A
passer-by took a picture of one man trying to crawl between two slabs
of concrete and another conversing with a small glass salt cellar in
the palm of his hand. As the camera flashed Will crouched down,
furtively looked from side to side, then dived at Dan, knocking him to
the ground.
"Copy that! We are taking fire, I repeat, we are taking heavy fire!"
he screamed at no one in particular. Dan was frozen stiff, still
clutching Kevin but totally entranced by Will, whose skin was,
disturbingly enough, covered in what appeared to be mice.
"Fuckin' stay low! Al around us! One bogey directly ahead!" Will
whispered to Kevin who had rolled out of Dan's grasp. A small child who
was in front of Will began to cry noisily.
"Will?" whispered back Kevin.
"Yes Sarge?"
"Where are we?"
"Verona, Sarge"
"And we're under attack?"
"Yes Sarge. Fascists, they are sarge." A pause.
"Will?"
"Yes Sarge?"
"Why are fascists attacking us in Verona?"
"It's this awful war, Sarge."
"What war?"
"This one, Sarge." Another pregnant, despairing pause.
"Will?"
"Yes Sarge?"
"There is no war. This is London."
"You sure Sarge?"
"Yes Will."
"Sarge?"
"Yes Will?"
"They've gotten to you, haven't they Sarge?"
"Will?"
"Yes Sarge?"
"I'm a salt shaker. You're on acid." On hearing this, Will cocked his
rifle.
"You've gone soft, Sarge. Bloody conshie you are, Sarge." He made as
if to fire at Kevin. Kevin looked as if he was about to dispense salt
in a granular and convenient fashion.
"William. I'm not even talking. I'm in your skull." enunciated Kevin
as Dan finally unfroze and stood up. He brushed himself off and
surveyed his surroundings, and as he heard Will addressing him, he
looked down.
"Dan, you hear what Kevin's saying? He says there's no war. He says
we're not even in Verona" came the low whine from the crumpled
Will-shaped heap on the floor.
"Well, in a way, he's both wrong and right. The idea of a sodding salt
shaker even talking is preposterous, let alone being able to ascertain
exact position in space and time. Now get up. It's 37 o'clock. Mind the
broccoli." Slightly stunned by these revelations, Will rose, leaving
Kevin on the pavement.
"No! Don't listen to him! I am your god!" came the desperate cried
from Kevin. "You cannot desert a soldier in the field, leave no man
behind!" Will clasped his hands over his ears, trying to forget about
his fallen comrade. Stepping off the pier a second before Dan he almost
collided with a double-decker submarine, only for Dan to immediately
pull him back. A brief yell escaped Dan's lips as he grabbed his
friend's arm, narrowly avoiding certain reality. The two sat down,
momentarily stunned. Surrounded by the perceived calm that only being
in the centre of a city during rush hour can bring, Will's face lit up
again. Hurriedly he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small piece
of paper. "This is going to make a million" he breathed as he scribbled
a few words in his tiny scrawl and then put it back in his inside
pocket. Dan looked curious.
"What's that?"
"Oh, just an idea I've been considering for quite a while" Will
casually said. "I have the feeling our fortunes may change" he smiled
languidly. Leaning against Dan, who was leaning against a wall, he
softly passed out.

"Urgh! Poofs!" Dan opened his unwilling eyes and tried focussing. All
he could see was what appeared to be two baseball cap-wearing, mentally
challenged primates leering aggressively at him and Will. It should be
noted that Will was passed out, face down in Dan's lap, and there was a
fair pool of quite suspicious dribble emerging from his mouth.
"Excuse me?" said Dan, his hands rubbing his eyes and face as the last
crops of broccoli disappeared. He was sitting against a concrete wall
with his best friend quite clearly on the wrong side of compus mentus
and the overwhelming desire to cry, with no idea whatsoever what events
had led him there. Squinting, he tried to get a better image of his
conversation buddies.
"You're gay, innit? In the streets!" At this Dan decided attack was
the best form of defence. "Are you my 3 o'clock? You wanted me to dress
up like Neil Hamilton and fist you? Or is that your mate?" he said,
leering nastily. The two apes were dumbstruck. How could this person
know their innermost dreams? Dan raised his voice "Go on, do an
impression of a bush." Silence. The two youths looked apprehensively at
each other. "LEAVE." They did so. Rapidly.

Dan breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring in order to try and draw
in as much fresh air as possible. When he realised that he was indeed
sitting down in central London he stopped trying to inhale and instead
opted for the more savoury option of relocating to some other place.
Any other place. Will moaned contentedly in his sleep and Dan wondered
if he was having that recurring dream involving Kenneth Branagh, a
paper clip and a drum kit. He shifted his weight in such a way as to
make Will's head drop between his legs enough to jolt him from his
slumber. "Ken?stop drumming you bastard' he mumbled, then sat bolt
upright in a flash, a terrified expression on his face. His eyebrows
were attempting to reach his scalp in a desperate effort to escape his
fevered, bloodshot eyes. His head snapped from one side to another,
then looked directly at Dan who nodded in silence.
"Same dream?"
"Jesus yes. It's getting worse too" blurted out Will, rubbing his
stubbly face, "he had a bass guitar too this time. I get the feeling he
was shaping up for a solo." He swallowed and scratched his neck. "Dan,
I'm properly bollocksed. When I sleep I see the greatest living
Shakespearean actor acting as the rhythm section for the worst band
ever. I need to get off this shit."
"Mate, don't worry. It was just a bad one this time. Rough with the
smooth, y'know?"
"Sod that, I can't be arsed. Well not until Tuesday, that's for
sure."
"That's m'lad. C'mon, let's go." They both rose shakily, as if their
legs were a forgotten birthday present from a long-lost aunt. A scrap
of paper saying simply 'Start up a skip-hire firm and retire' fell from
Will's pocket and fluttered, unnoticed, to the grimy pavement.