Dropping a clanger

The alarm dragged Toby out of his dream, and it had been one he was really enjoying. He groggily threw back the covers and plodded toward the freezing bathroom. He washed and dressed in silence, before going to the tiny kitchen to boil the kettle. He turned on the radio to chase the emptiness from the apartment and wondered how he had called this place home for two years.

At ten to eight, he entered his drab office-block and waited for the elevator. A second after the doors closed, he got the lingering stink of a fart and tried to hold his breath for the five-floor ride. He failed on floor three and choked on the fumes. When the door opened, a woman was waiting to get on. Toby hurried away knowing she’d think he was responsible for the horrible stench. It was a typical start to another day as an intern.

The offices of Phoenix International were an open-plan sea of desks. Despite the grandeur of the company name, it was nothing more than a telemarketing company. He and the rest of the minions spent all day, every day, calling unsuspecting people, trying to get them to upgrade, switch, or invest, in whatever rubbish they had been hired to sell. Toby paused at the clock-in machine and rested his finger on the pad. The thing beeped and his soul was owned for another nine hours.

Even though it was early, over half the desks were already occupied. In his glass-fronted office, Mr Jefferies lounged in his leather executive chair. Toby started his computer and today’s list of victims appeared. He sighed and pulled out his script to refresh his spiel. Upgrade to bill pay and get one-hundred free international minutes, it said.

Ten past nine and the bell rang for the first time. That God-damn bell. It was one of Mr Jefferies motivational additions, but in Toby's opinion, it hell incarnate. Every time someone made a sale, they had to go ring that thing and endure the forced joy of their co-workers. Toby stood and joined the muted applause, as a grinning redhead smiled bashfully beside the bell. In his office, Mr Jefferies looked like a demented seal as he pounded his hands together. Here it comes, thought Toby. Any second now. On cue, Mr Jefferies mimed high-fiving the blushing woman. What ridiculous shite.

At that moment, Suzie scuttled into the cubicle across from Toby's. She powered up her computer, plopped her headset on, and was already introducing herself to her first potential victim before she had her coat off. Toby liked Suzie, but she always seemed to be in a wiz; she had a thousand balls in the air and was terrified of dropping even one. She was a mom you see, and one without a partner to help her. The poor girl was constantly exhausted.

Throughout the morning, the bell clanged occasionally and everyone jumped to their feet like Pavlov’s dogs. Most people Toby called told him to go f**k himself, or some more polite version of that sentiment. That was tough, particularly when his wage was linked to the number of calls he made, and the number of sales he achieved. In contrast to Mr Jefferies' celebration of sales, Philippa from accounts seemed to resent every cent that went into a pay-packet. The penny-pinching administrator paused as she passed Suzie desk and said, “Fifteen minutes late, again, Miss Granger.”

“I know, it was my son’s…”

“Excuses won’t cut any mustard with me, Miss Granger. A note will be added to your file,” she said shrilly and began to walk away. As an afterthought, she added, “And the loss of your first hour, of course.”

Toby bristled. He knew the note meant nothing; all Philippa cared about was getting forty-five free minutes of work from an employee. It all transferred to the bottom line; pure profit. If Suzie was late every single day, they would keep employing her and keep sucking her hours away. It was just another scam.

Stuff like that got right on Toby's wick. Anyone could see that she was doing her best, and achieving a hell of a lot more than most. Philippa should be thanking her, not looking for every opportunity to turn the screw a bit tighter. Not that that would never happen. Philippa and Mr Jefferies knew when they had someone by the short and currlies, and they loved twisting those bad-boys.

At twelve forty, Mr Jefferies appeared over Toby’s shoulder and said, “Brain-drain. My office. In five,” before sauntering away. Brain-drain? The man was so steeped in management lingo he’d lost the ability to use the English language. Toby looked at his watch and cursed. That was his lunch break gone, and more importantly, he’d miss Joan.

He gathered a pen and jotter then followed the boss. The brain-drain turned out to be a long-winded rant by Mr Jefferies, bemoaning the new targets set by head office. Philippa chipped in with bolstering comments from time to time but Toby didn't speak even once. After a while, there was a knock at the door and Joan’s smiling face appeared.

                “Would anyone like to order something?” she asked, nodding toward the basket of sandwiches and buns slung over her arm. Toby felt his heart race and a blush sprang to his cheeks but Mr Jefferies beat him to the punch.

“We’re all good here,” he said, and continued with his commentary. Joan slipped out and the only light in Toby’s life vanished for another day. The meeting ended at two and Toby knew he’d never make his call quota today. That ment he would only take-home sixty percent of his wage. He’d be better off on the dole. Despite the pointlessness of it, he picked up his phone and dialled the next number on his list.

At five-forty-five, he putting on his jacket but then the phone rang. He picked it.

“Glad I caught you, Toby. I need you to do a little job for me,” he said. Toby could hear road noise in the background and he knew the boss was already on the way home.

Inside he winced, but heard himself say, “Sure.”

“There is a guy coming over to upgrade the computers. Can you hang on a few minutes till he’s done?”

“I was just on my way out,” he said.

“The road to the top is a tough one, Toby. If you can’t put the needs of the company …”

“No. It’s fine. I can wait,” he said. This job was a shitty one but it was the only one he had.

“I knew I could count on you. See you in the morning. Oh, and one more thing. You better clock out to keep the rosters straight.” he said and hung up.

“Shit,” said Toby, and slammed the handset into the cradle. His stomach growled and he knew it was going to be empty for a while. He went to the fingerprint pad and pressed his digit to it. The machine beeped and he was off the clock, but still trapped. The office was completely empty by the time the computer guy turned up.

“Sorry I’m late,” said the guy, struggling under a tonne of cases.

“It’s fine. Let me take some of those,” said Toby.

“Cheers,” said the guy handing over a bag filled with tools then extended his hand saying, “I'm Moggs, nice to meet you.”

“Toby,” he replied and shook the man’s hand. Toby liked him already, he had a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

“Right. Point me in the direction of the server and let’s get this over and done with.” Moggs turned out to be as good as his word and worked like lightning. Soon he had the new programme loading and they had time to chat. It turned out they had a hell of a lot in common. They were both interns, they were both underpaid, underappreciated and overworked.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” said Moggs.

“I’m all ears.”

“None of them really know what's going on.”

“None of who?”

“The bosses.”

“Really?”

“Yea. This little baby is the real power behind the wizard,” he said, patting his laptop.

“How do you mean?”

“Every day, this thing spits out a report and they all take it for gospel. Not one of them knows enough about the business, or the way the programme works, to know if the numbers are real or not. They blindly following along behind this digital Pied Piper.”

“So, if the computer gets it wrong, they’d never know.”

“Not unless it goes completely insane. They never see the small things, which is why we have to do updates. To catch the glitches, you know.”

“It must be complicated.”

“Na, not at all. Do you want me to show you?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sure, but keep it to yourself, fair enough?”

“You can count on it.” For the next hour, Moggs showed him the ins and outs of the programme. The backdoor log-in, how a few little tweaks here and there could change the reports, making fantasy become reality. When Toby eventually left the office, he had an empty stomach and a full brain. He decided it was time to stick it to Mr Jefferies and his snivelling sidekick Philippa.

The next morning, when the alarm went off he sprang from the bed, eager to get to work for the first time in ages. His head buzzed with all the stuff he could do to show up his boss for the drooling idiot he was. He logged into the administrator section of the programme, as Moggs had shown him, but there he stalled. He couldn’t make himself do it. He didn't want to lower himself to the level of pettiness that Philippa enjoyed. Instead, he opened his call list and started working.

Suzie arrived in a panic, as always, and hurriedly began getting her workstation up and running. “Tough morning?” he asked.

“Terrible. The bus was late and I had to run all the way from dropping my little fella at the child-minder and I still didn’t make it on time. I know that witch is going to dock me another hour, and I can’t afford that. I have to make my quota this week or I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Toby nodded and dialled his next number. Later, he opened up the programme and accessed the payroll section. He selected Suzie timecard and changed her nine-twelve clock in to eight-fifty-nine. It wasn’t stealing, if anything it was stopping the company from robbing her. Deep inside he felt a glow of contentment as he went back to work.

Lunchtime rolled around and Joan appeared with her basket of goodies. She stopped at desks, asking people if they wanted to buy something, and Toby's eyes tracked her like a fox watching a chicken. When she reached his desk, she gave him a magical smile and asked, "Would you like anything?"

"A ham roll and a muffin, if you have one," he said with a hitch in his voice. It must have been his heart clogging up his throat.

"Sure, Honey," she said, and popped them on his desk. She took his money and moved on.

"She called me, Honey," he said to himself and felt a flutter in his chest. She might call everyone honey, but he didn't care. He never enjoyed a meal so much.

The rest of the day passed without incident and it was the first time in ages he felt motivated. Even the clanging of the bell and the pantomime they had to perform with each ring, failed to annoy him. Before leaving, he logged back into the administrator programme and looked at Suzie’s calls for the day. She'd nearly made it, only twenty short and she had skipped her lunch. In Toby’s mind, she’d worked hard enough to deserve her full day's wage, so with a click of his mouse, he added thirty-five calls to her total. Toby walked home on cloud nine.

Over the following weeks, he continued to make little adjustments here and there as people deserved them. He helped Suzie keep on track of her attendance, so long as she wasn’t too late. He added a sale here and there to people who worked hard but rarely got the credit. He adjusted a few customer feed-back forms to mention particular people who needed to be recognised for work they did. They were only tiny little things, and not one of them were done to damage the company. Actually, he began to notice something unusual. People started getting happier. The bell rang more often and people started believing that the impossible targets were possible after all. They all started to approach their customers with a genuine warmth, and it showed. Mr Jefferies even eased up on them. After all, he believed this new upward trend in sales was all down to him. But all that ended the day the email arrived.

Mr Jefferies came out of his office like a raging bull and stormed up to accounts in search of Philippa. He reappeared with a trail of worried looking managers in tow and then the shouting began. The words, E-mail, and, Head Office, were repeated often and loudly. Deep in Toby's gut he knew this was something to do with him, so he logged into the server and opened up Mr Jefferies E mails. In glaring black and white, all his nightmares became reality. There was an inspection team on their way from the US to investigate, unexplainable irregularities. Toby knew that meant one thing; they were coming to find him.

He kept his head down until five thirty then left the office. His stomach churned with worry, and no matter what way he looked at things, trouble lay ahead. That night he didn't sleep a wink and when he turned up the following day, a cloud of gloom hung over the office. He kept his head down as manager after manager filed in and out of Mr Jefferies' sanctum. There were two strangers looming about the place, clearly the American henchmen, and their stony glares did nothing to dispel that notion. Around eleven, a girl from accounts fled Mr Jefferies' office in tears. Toby left his cubicle to follow as unobtrusively as possible. He caught up with her at the lift and stood beside her, pretending to wait on the doors to open.

  

"Are you, OK?" he asked, the girl was trying her best to rub away rivers of watery mascara.

"No, I'm not. They're saying someone interfered with the accounts, and they're trying to pin it on me."

"That's crazy!"

"I know! But they don't care. They said I had access codes and they wouldn't believe that I've never used them."

"Don't worry too much. I'm sure it will work itself out," he said, earning himself a stony glare from the girl.

"And how would you know?" she snapped, before storming away toward the stairs, giving up on the elevator.

Toby turned back to the office and knew he had to face the music. He never imagined that someone else could get in trouble for what he'd done. He went straight to Mr Jefferies door, knocked, and went in. His boss looked up and barked, "Can't you see I'm busy, Toby. I'm sure whatever it is can wait."

"I don't think it can, Sir."

"Well, spit it out then," snapped his boss, as the two American's talked among themselves.

"I know who interfered with the computer." That got the attention of the strangers, and shocked Mr Jefferies into silence.

"I think you better take a seat," said one of the Americans.

Once he was seated, Mr Jefferies said, "Well, who was it then?"

"Me."

"Don't talk rubbish. You couldn't possibly have done that." Toby sighed and began telling his story. He told them everything, but left out Moggs’ part in willingly giving him the ins and outs of the computer system. Instead, he said he saw the password written down on the paperwork and figured out the rest himself. When he came to the end of his story, Mr Jefferies jumped to his feet and roared, "You're finished here! You'll never work in this town again! I'm calling the police!" His boss looked at the strangers for agreement but their faces gave nothing away.

"What's your name again?" asked one of the men.

"Toby."

"This is a very serious situation," the man said, severely. "You're suspended pending investigation. I must ask you to leave the office and not return until you’re contacted. Is that clear?"

"I'll get my coat," said Toby, his words felt crushed under the wreck he’d managed to make of his life. What was he going to do now?

"I'll walk you to the door," said the American. Toby felt like a criminal, and for the first time, he worried that he might have actually broken the law. Could he end up behind bars for this? As Toby was escorted from the office, every eye was on him, including Joan's, who was in the middle of her lunch round.

All that night, and most of the next day, he expected a knock on his door and the feel of handcuffs on his wrists, but neither arrived. What did arrive was a text saying, Please attend the office for a meeting in the morning. Eleven am. After reading it, Toby wondered should he pack a bag? He might not see his flat again for six to twelve months.

When he arrived at work, he was shown into Mr Jefferies' office where a full welcoming committee waited. Thankfully, none of them were policemen. Present were; Mr Jefferies, Philippa, the two Americans, and an empty chair for him.

"Have a seat," said the American who had done all the talking on the first day. Toby was feeling a bit faint so he was glad to comply. "I want to start by saying that we have spoken with all the members of staff who you...assisted, and they all confirm they were completely in the dark about what you had done."

Toby looked around and noted the glare Philippa was sending his way, and Mr Jefferies' smug look. Whatever was coming was very very bad. The American continued talking. "We’ve made a full assessment of the changes you made and found you didn't improve your own sales calls; time card, or any other aspect of your personal record. Can you tell us why?"

"I just wanted people to be treated a bit more fairly. I never intended to hurt the company…or make any money that I hadn’t earned."

"That is completely out..." shouted Mr Jefferies, but the American held up his hand and silenced him.

"Are you referring to yourself, or is it people in general, that were being treated unfairly?" asked the American.

"Well, unfairly might be overly strong," he said, not wishing to sound like a snitch. Mr Jefferies looked like he was about to explode.

"Strangely, it seems that even after reversing your influence, this office has showed a marked improvement in productivity over the last few weeks. Record-breaking even," said the American, as if Mr Jefferies were invisible.

"Purely coincidental," snipped Philippa.

"I beg to differ," said the American who’d not yet spoken. Toby noticed the first man sit back; this was clearly the big boss speaking. "This young man has done something very stupid, but in doing so he has unearthed an even more glaring mistake on our behalf," said the man, glowering at Philippa and Mr Jefferies.

"Mistake," snorted Mr Jefferies.

"We, and by extension, you, forgot that we’re an industry dependent on people. Our company is run by people, and all of them deserve to be treated with dignity. Having said that... Toby's actions cannot go unanswered. What I'm suggesting is a period away from the office for this young man."

"Please don't send me to prison," sobbed Toby and he failed to hold back his tears.

"I'm suggesting nothing of the sort," said the American, his tone softening.

"Then what are you suggesting," snorted Mr Jefferies, pushing his chair back from the desk and stapling his hands behind his head.

"I'm suggesting he comes to the States and works with us in head office for three months. Then he returns here as office controller."

Toby couldn't believe his ears.

"You're rewarding criminality!" yelled Mr Jefferies.

"I'm rewarding ingenuity, and he didn't steal anything from us, he made our company stronger!" yelled the American, slamming his fist on the table. The sound was still reverberating off the walls when Mr Jefferies snapped his mouth closed. The American turned to Toby and asked with a smile, "You ready to go back to work?"

"Am I ever!" said Toby, standing to shake the man's hand, delighted he was not going to jail.

As Toby opened the door of Mr Jefferies' office, he could see eyes peering at him from everywhere. Slowly, Suzie stood up and smiled. Then she began applauding. One by one, every one of his workmates joined in until the noise was thunderous. That was when the cheering started. Toby couldn't help himself; he snatched a scissors from a desk and walked to the bell in the middle of the room. With one snip the clanger fell into his hand and he held it aloft like a victorious warrior.

In the midst of the hoots and hollers, he saw Joan walking away from his desk. When he got there, he found a muffin and a ham roll waiting for him. On the blotter was a note. It said, "I love a rebel. Call me." Beside it was her number, and for Toby, this great day became legendary. 

The List 2018

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I was blown away to see that Honeysuckle Lane has made it onto The List, by CQ Magazine. Some amazing books on here and of the ones I have not read I will be getting around to soon. Talk about chuffed to bits. Something for everyone on here so let your friends know.

Smashing

The bottle twisted as it flew through the air. Everything moved in slow-motion. Lacy could see the lights dance across its surface, her brain had time to register the brand, and she even noticed there was still beer inside. Despite all these things, she couldn’t make her body move to one side, or put up a hand to deflect it, or anything to stop serious injury from coming her way. When the bottle was only inches from her face, a hand appeared and snatched it from the air. She didn’t understand what had happened, which is why her mouth hung open like a dullard. 

His smile was magical. His eyes were crystal blue and filled with fun. He looked up at the balcony where a drunk girl stared down. He tilted the bottle in his hand slightly, asking the question, are you going to say something? The drunk girl waved and vanished. The man placed the bottle on a table as Lacy tried to make the words, Thank You, come out. He just winked and walked away.

               

As he vanished, Lacy turned to her friend, Tracy, and said, “OMG did you see him!”

              

"He like, TOTALLY, saved your life!” she said, squealing and yelling over the music in in the club. 

“You should so go after him!”

“You think?”

“Totally!”

“I don’t even know his name. I can’t,” Lacy said, hiding her blushing face in her hands but she really wanted to. She would have, if she could see, him but the club was too packed. God, she had butterflies in her stomach and her heart was racing. He hadn’t even said a word and he had her melting. She’d never felt anything like it before and she was sure she never would again.

“You’re so prissy, if you don’t want him, I’ll have him,” said Tracy, pretending to go after the man. Lacy grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Don’t you dare,” she cried, dragging her friend away to get a drink at the bar.

***

All week, that guy was in her thoughts. The way he smiled, his eyes, the air of adventure that surrounded him, the way he saved her. Every day the feeling grew stronger. One day, she munched dreamily at her lunch and thought of him…of them. Her phone rang and she had to rummage through the junk in her bag to find the damn thing, and when she did, it was only Jason.

“Hi,” she said, not excited, not annoyed. After all, they were dating, of sorts.

"Hi, baby. How’s your day going?” He sounded bubbly, like a puppy ready to jump up and lick her.

“Same old same old. What about you?”

As he yammered on about some boring work stuff, she let her mind wander. She rested her chin in her hand and drifted. At first, she thought she was dreaming him, but there he was, walking down far side of the road. Her savour, carrying four Starbuck’s coffees in those paper containers they give out.

"Jason, I got to run, call you later,” she said cutting cross him mid-sentence and hanging up. She quickly gathered up her belongings and dashed out into the street before she had a chance to change her mind. She had to wait for a break in the traffic to cross the road, and by the time she had, she saw her dream man climb into a silver Audi and pull away.

“Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it,” she said, stamping her feet and spinning on the spot. She had to get to know him. Then it hit her. Starbucks! She turned and dashed down the street to that familiar white and green circle floating above the shop on the corner. She ran inside, and thank God, it was nearly empty.

“Hi. What can I get you?” asked the girl behind the counter.

“This is weird, but a guy just left here. A tall guy, floppy hair, blue eyes, really well dressed. Did you see him?”

“Yea, I think I know who you mean,” said the girl stroking her chin. Lacy didn’t think this chick was the sharpest tool in the box.

“Can you tell me his name?” asked Lacy, feeling she was on the verge of a life-changing event.

“Bob,” the clerk said. 

Shit. Bob! Not at all what she had in mind.

“Or it might be John, or Simon, or Ethan. He always gets four coffees and those are the names. I think he works in a law office on the far side of town.”

“Do you know where it is?” Lacy asked.

“Look, lady, they just come and order coffee. Do you want something or not?” asked the girl, clearly losing interest in this game.

“No, thanks,” she said, and left the shop. She had a lead on him, of sorts. As the door closed behind her, her phone rang, again, and it was Jason, again. God, what did he want now?

“Hello,” she said and rolled her eyes as she walked away.

***

Over the next week, Lacy spent every lunchtime sitting in Starbucks, waiting for Bob, John, Simon, or Ethan to arrive. On Friday he did. Her heart jumped into her mouth as he opened the door and looked directly at her. She smiled and he walked toward, but then continued past to the counter. She followed and stood behind him while he placed his order. When he was done, she tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hello?” he said, clearly, he had no idea who she was.

“Do you remember me?” she asked.

“You might have to give me a hint,” he said, but flashed her a dazzling smile with an accompanying wink. He was flirting with her.

“You saved me from a bottle, in the club, the other night,” she said, tilting her head back and giving her hair a flick.

“That was you?”

“Yep. I wanted to say thanks,” she said holding out her hand and he took it in his. It was a big hand, but soft. He rolled her fingers in his, as if massaging her, and it was an incredibly intimate feeling.

“I’m Lacy,” she said.

“Ethan,” he said.

“I knew you would be,” she said, before she could stop herself.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. Its… Well… nothing,” she said, getting tongue-tied. Behind them, the girl landed a tray-load of coffees on the counter.

“That will be twelve ninety,” the girl said and Ethan flipped her a credit card, which she tapped against the machine. Lacy could see her chance to make an impression drawing quickly to a close, so she panicked.

"Do you want to come to a party?” she asked, and was amazed to hear the words come out of her mouth because she had no party to invite him too.

"Sure, when?” he said, surprising her.

“Give me your number and I'll text you the details,” she said. He called out his number and she typed it into her phone. On the way out the door, he stopped and turned.

“Can I bring some friends?”

"The more the merrier,” she said, getting herself deeper into the lie. As soon as he was out the door, she was on the phone to Tracy.

"Tracy, we have to have a party, tomorrow!” she yelled. The girl behind the counter to glared across at her. The squeals of delight on the end of the line were all the encouragement she needed. This plan was going to work.

The following day was a whirlwind of preparation. Lacy all but emptied her bank account buying drink, food, and decorations. It was her first party and she was determined to make it one to remember. She called friends and extended invitations. When anyone asked the reason for the get-together, she said, for the crack. At six, she was stringing fairy lights around the sitting room when someone knocked on the door. Tracy answered it and when she came back in, Jason was right behind her. Tracy gave a lip-biting grimace at the awkward situation that was about to unfold.

"Hi, Lace. What's all the lights for?

"Jason... I meant to give you a call. You see…there is a bit of a thing happening tonight."

"Cool, a party."

"It's not a party."

"Oh?" he said, clearly not believing her.

"Just the girls coming around for a few drinks."

"Sounds great," he said, not giving up. This guy was alike a terrier with a bone.

"Only the girls," she said, feeling a little like a bitch, but only a little.

"Oh. I see," he said, rejection written all over his face. "I better leave you to it, so," he said, walking toward the door. At the door, he said, "Enjoy the night. I'll call you tomorrow," like a kicked puppy, which made her feel like a complete bitch.

"Ok," was all she said.

When he was gone Tracy turned to her and said, "Well, that was crushing."

"And what was I supposed to say?"

"I don't know, but I don't think you should keep stringing him along like this."

"I'm not stringing him along. We're not exclusive or anything."

"Whatever, girl. Just saying," said Tracy, tottering away with more beer to squeeze into the fridge.

***

The party had been going for two hours, and the flat was full of people, but no sign of Ethan. Lacy was wearing her slinkiest outfit; the one with the slit up to the hip, and everyone said how hot she looked, but she was miserable. Every time the doorbell rang, she rushed to answer it, but it was never him. When she given up hope, he arrived. She pulled the door open and his blue eyes made her knees go weak.

"Sorry we're late," he said, and Lacy noticed the three other people standing behind him. Two were stunning looking girls and Lacy wanted to murder the two of them.

"No problem, it's only starting," she said standing to one side. She watched with horror as Ethan placed a hand low on one of the girl’s back, to guide her in. It was like being stabbed in the heart. As he disappeared into the flat, she stood rooted to the spot. She couldn't make herself let go of the door.

Tracy appeared beside her and asked, "Are you ok?"

"No, I'm not. Nothing’s ok," she said, and slammed the door. For the rest of the night, she stayed in the kitchen swilling wine. Ethan appeared a few times, and glanced in her direction, but his lady was never far away. By the time the party was winding up, Lacy was plastered. Ethan appeared and said, "We're heading. Thanks so much, for the invite."

"No problem. I'll let you out," she slurred, walking to the front door and opening it for them. Ethan's friends left, but he lingered.

"Sorry we didn't get to talk more. I really wanted to," he said.

"Yea, whatever," she said, and watched him take a step outside, but he paused again, then leaned into her ear.

"Meet me tomorrow," he whispered, his warm breath playing across her ear.

"What about your girlfriend?"

"Don't mind her. Come on, meet me tomorrow."

Inside, her heart lept in her chest, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d agreed. With a wink, he was gone. So was her bad mood, her drunken state and every dire thought she had entertained during the night. He wanted her, he really wanted her. 

***

The morning came, but not half fast enough and eventually she did meet him. They sat and shared drink after drink, while he explained how much of a cow his girlfriend was. Afternoon turned to evening, and before that turned into night, they found themselves in bed. Lacy gave Ethan every inch of her body and would have done so twice if she could. It was magical. The only distraction was her phone and the incessant beeping, each one another message from Jason. She had no intention of answering any of them. Ethan was the man for her, filling her mind and her body in all the ways that counted.

The days passed and Ethan was a constant presence. He whispered everything she ever wanted to hear, he fulfilled every desire she ever held, he was the man she always wanted to have. Nothing would be the same again. A week turned into two, and lust turned into love, but things don't always go to plan. 

Meetings had to be cancelled, outings abandoned, and long leisurely nights in bed cut short by his work commitments. True to his word, Ethan did abandon his girlfriend, but still he was always rushing off at a minute’s notice. Lacy was beginning to spend as much time alone as she did with him.

Weeks turned into months, and Lacy started to realise that something was wrong. Ethan never took her to his place; he never introduced her to his friends, the only time they spent together was in bed. She got used to the calls cancelling dates and nights out. She got used to the excuses as he left her bed, his sweat still moist on her body. Although she refused to admit it, in her heart, she knew he was leaving her. She nearly never saw Tracy anymore, or any of her girlfriends, Ethan didn’t like them. She was alone, and drifting further from the rest of the world by the day.

One night, she was sitting in the club, in the same spot Ethan had saved her, waiting for him to arrive, but she knew he wasn’t coming. The call had not come, but still she knew. He was somewhere else, with someone else, doing what she wished he was doing with her.

Across the room she saw a figure standing at the bar. It was Jason. He was smiling and laughing with a group of friends. She watched him and he seemed to be bigger than she remembered, taller, or perhaps it was just the way he was carrying himself. He nearly looked like a different person. She picked up her drink and walked across to him, to spend a few minutes catching up, to share a few moments.

As she neared, he saw her. His face flickered and she saw the hint of dread in his eyes. Jesus, you would swear she were a monster or something. He held up his hand, as if warding her off, and started to put down his bottle. His eyes held a lifetime of hurt, a sea of anguish, and a universe of pain: and she knew all of that was her fault. He turned from her and walked away, abandoning her as she had abandoned him. The bottle teetered on the edge of the counter before falling outward; twisting in mid-air, reflecting the light of the club off its surface before smashing on the ground, smashing like all her dreams had been smashed. Smashed at the hands of Ethan, and more disastrously, smashed by herself. 

Hillman Hunter

The back of my Granny's house looked like a breakers yard for cars, mainly thanks to my uncles, Mike and PJ. You were never sure which car was running or which was being cannibalised for parts. In the end, it all added to the madness that followed the boys everywhere.

PJ was very fond of one particular car, a brown Hillman Hunter. Admittedly he spent nearly as much time under the bonnet as he did behind the wheel but he never gave up on the thing. One evening, the hunter came limping into the yard, grinding metal screamed under the car, and black oily smoke pumping from the back of it.

Mike stuck his head out the kitchen window and yelled, "What yea done to the thing now?"

PJ got out and slammed the door hard, looking furious, "Flamen clutch is gone," he yelled, kicking the tyre.

"I'll make the tea and we'll have a look," said Mike, closing the window to keep the clouds of sticky smoke out of the house. 

As the two boys walked around the car, mugs of steaming tea in hand, they mulled over what could be done.

"You'll be going nowhere in that," said Mike, taking a sip of his brew.

"I have to get into work tomorrow," PJ moaned.

"You'd have more luck pushing a fart back where it came from than getting that thing running by the morning," commented Mike wisely.

"What about the old Mini?" asked PJ, nodding toward a carcass of a car up on four blocks.

"Nothing to lose I guess," said Mike, rolling up his sleeves. A few hours later and the Mini had been fitted with a battery that still held a bit of a charge, four scavenged wheels, one a bit smaller than the other three, new spark plugs and given a general clean up.

PJ syphoned petrol from the Hunter and poured it into the Mini then turned to Mike and said, "If this doesn't work, you'll have to drop me to work."

"Jesus lad. I've got to be on the far side of Cashel before eight! Not a chance!" Mike would work all night on a car but there was no way he was getting out of bed a minute before he had to in the morning. With fingers crossed they turned over the engine. It whirred and whined and coughed and spluttered but failed to start. Mike shook his big bushy head at the engine as they tried one last time. Whirr, whirr, whirr,  it went then Mike lost the rag. 

"Start-up, yea bitch," he yelled, and hit the distributor cap an awful slap with the hammer he was holding. That seemed to do the trick because the little car coughed into life and idled away like an asthmatic, with a sixty-a-day smoking habit.  

The next morning the car failed to start again, that was until PJ hit used the hammer again. Weeks passed, and the hammer became as necessary as the key to get the little car going. Work on the Hunter was slow, as the necessity of the job dwindled while the Mini was getting PJ around. He found, wink-wink, a clutch that would fit the car, but never actually got around to installing it. 

One afternoon, PJ was trying to get the Mini started but no matter how many times he hit the distributor cap, the bloody thing wouldn't turn over. Granny popped her head around the corner and asked, "Hey, what's all the caterwauling?"

"Blasted car won't start, and I'm taking Maggie to the pictures tonight," said PJ, throwing the hammer at the engine. With no other option, he set to work fixing the Hunter. He managed to get the car jacked up at a forty-five-degree angle, then rammed planks against the wheels to keep it up there. He began undoing the bolts on the gearbox, but then came a quandary. He needed a second set of hands to get this job done. There was nobody around but Granny, so Granny it would have to be. 

So, picture this scene; a brown car tipped up on its side, two planks precariously holding it up, a mad Irish man hunkered under a wobbling tonne of steel undoing bolts while his mother held the gearbox in place with a rope snaking in the passenger side window.

"Hold her, hold her, Mammy!" he yelled, and Granny braced herself to take the weight of the gearbox. The last bolt dropped into his hand and PJ yelled, "Lave her down! More, more, a bit more. She's out!"

In any other house, having your fifty-year-old mother acting as a hydraulic lift might seem strange, but not this one. PJ manoeuvred the replacement part into place as the car wobbled over his head. Granny had to hold a torch for him because night was drawing in. Eventually everything was in position and Granny was back on the end of the rope again.

"Pull! Pull! Another bit! Hang on and I give this a slap," PJ cried from under the car and a hammer blow rang out into the evening sky. Something gave and the gearbox slid into place. 

"That's it, Mammy, now hold her there while I get a few bolts into this thing."

After a few minutes, a sweating PJ appeared with his hand still brimming with bolts and a smile on his face. As he wiped his brow with the back of a greasy mitt he asked. "What time is it there, Mammy?"

Granny looked through the kitchen window at the clock on the wall. "Ten to eight."

"Jesus, I have to pick Maggie up at nine. He gave a quick look at the nuts in his hand and tossed them into the glove box of the car and began getting the four wheels back on the ground. Half an hour later, a freshly washed PJ turned the key and prayed. The faithful old hunter started up the first time and purred away into the night.

The nuts were soon forgotten and the Hunter became a regular sight on the roads once more. That was until a month later, the whole gearbox fell out of the thing doing sixty miles an hour on road to Dublin. Mike and PJ blocked the countries only dual carriageway for nearly an hour as they tried to explain to the Guards why the gearbox was only held in by two bolts.

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