In The Name Of Love

‘So how’s life in the Grady household?’

‘Oh…OK.’ Steve yawned, stumbling along side me with three trolleys. ‘We got the house.’

‘Brilliant.’

It had been a week since Steve and Mary found out they were having a baby. The Grady’s were having a baby. A Grady Baby. Don’t think I didn’t crack out that gem the minute I saw him today.

‘I know you think I’m a bit of a cool dude, Dylan. Too laid back for my own good and all that. But, I may have gone bit overboard when I heard the news.’

A bit overboard? The day after he found out he told me he bought ‘Daddy Day Care’ and ‘About a Boy’ on DVD to prepare himself.

‘But I’m warming to it. Mary’s going to have a baby.’ He confirmed.

‘Both of you. Both of you are having a baby.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

He had to get out of the habit of saying that. I don’t know much about women but they don’t like to take full responsibility for some things. Babies and reversing a car are the main two.

‘So, any baby names yet?’

‘Well, I want Steve.’ Steve said proudly.

‘Steve?’

‘Yeah, you know.’ He smiled. ‘Steve Junior.’

‘Or Steve The Second.’ I smiled back.

‘No, that would be stupid.’

Oh, that would be stupid? Calling a baby Steve is fine. You can’t call a baby Steve. That’s like calling a baby Alan. It doesn’t sound right.

‘Mary’s got a good idea. She didn’t want Steve…’

Shocking.

‘…And she’s finding it really tough, so we’re thinking about pooling names from a few people, popping them into a hat and drawing one.

‘Like a raffle?’

‘Yeah. Like a raffle. Everyone loves a raffle.’

He was right. Everyone likes a raffle. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. It’s an interesting story when you grow up. How did your parent’s choose your name?

‘My mate Chuggs has gone for Ozzy’.

Maybe not.

‘And you've just gone with Steve, again?’ I asked him.

‘No, I went for my second choice.'

'What's that?'

'I'm not telling you.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a secret. I want to keep it quiet until it's out of the hat.’

‘All right…’

I bet he’s chosen something horrendous like Rocky or Axl. Axl Grady. Not bad.

Allison was back from her caravan break in Cornwall, a bit of a tan on her face and the same bright smile. We shared a pack of crisps and chatted.

'So, have you been to the museum whilst I was away?'

I wondered when she was going to bring that up. I tried to push other things to the front of our conversations. Her holiday, the latest episode of The Apprentice and the expiry date of the crisps all dried up within five minutes. I hadn't heard from the museum since Bernard's wife called me so he was ill, since then Allison has been presuming I work there. Maybe because I didn't want to let her down. Or maybe because I hadn't told her otherwise. Maybe both.

'Yeah, I’ve popped down a few times. Sorted a few things out.'

'Things? What things?' Allison looked at me.

'You know...admin.'

Admin always takes time. She can't argue with admin.

'Oh, right. When do you finish here then?'

'Err...a few weeks, I imagine.' I said, nearly choking on a crisp.

'A few weeks? Wow...why that long?'

I couldn't say it was because of admin again, can I? Surely not.

'Well, the museum is only a few days...for now. I can get away with two jobs...for now.'

'Great.' She smiled, leaning over to me. 'Proud of you.'

Allison kissed me on the cheek and got herself a drink from the machine.

'Have you heard about what Mary and Steve are doing?' I shouted over to her.

'Not their Wrestling Rock nights down at the town hall?'

'No, not that. Although Steve wants that to happen. No, they're putting names into a hat to get a baby name. He's asked us all to do it.'

'Cool. Is it not Steve Junior any more then?' Allison asked.

'No, that was just a pipe dream.'

'I'll have to think of some names.'

'I'm going to put Patrick.'

'Patrick?'

'Yeah.' I nodded. 'I've always liked that name.'

'Yeah...it's nice.' Allison smiled.

Half an hour later we were all standing outside of the store. Allison, Tommy, Darren, Alex, Fran and even one of the cleaners, Juan, who didn't really seem to know what was happening. I think he just saw a crowd and wandered towards it. Steve and Mary stood beaming in front of us, both holding hats full of screwed up paper.

'You actually got two hats for this?' Darren asked, a bit disgruntled from having to stand outside in the fine rain.

'Of course.' Mary said.

'I thought it was just an expression.'

'Anyway.' Steve cleared his throat. 'Thank you all that putting names into the hat...'

After Steve's long welcome speech he pulled out the name for the girl. Tallulah. Everyone cringed apart from Allison's brother Tommy who smiled broadly, showing off his braces. They couldn't pick again, those were the rules. Mary picked out a piece of paper from her hat.

'OK...and if it's a boy...'

Everyone looked at each other. Juan wandered off. This was the moment. The moment that ruins a baby's life. Ozzy. Rocky. Axl. Poor kid.

'Patrick!'

Me and Steve yelled at the same time.

'What are you excited about?' He asked me.

'I chose that.'

'No, I chose that.'

'Wait...you chose Patrick, too?'

'Yeah, it was my Granddad’s name. Why did you?'

'I just like the name.' I shrugged.

We all cheered and clapped and hugged, happy in the knowledge that the baby may end up with a normal name.

'Patrick it is!' Mary announced.

'Or Tallulah!' Tommy interjected.

We all looked at him.

'Or not.' He looked down.

Yeah...or not.

Dad Medicine

Things never turn out the way you want them to, do they? You can plan and plan and plan until your house is filled with diary's, full calendars and little 'to do' notes, but in the end, things don't go perfectly.

It would have be perfect if Bernard came back from his relaxing holiday in full health, rang me up and offered me at job at the museum. But no, things don't go perfectly. Jake, the knob who I embarrassed in front of Bernard came into store yesterday in his annoying flip flops and oversized sunglasses. There was a frosty air between the both of us at first, but as the conversation moved onto Bernard's health we both said all the polite and melancholy things in respect. Towards the end he mentioned he wasn't working at the museum any more. Perfect. Jake neglected to tell me how, but simply stated he got another offer from somewhere else. Bollocks. More likely it was because I proved to Bernard he was pissing about whilst he was supposed to be working.

But Bernard was ill. A simple hint that life's not perfect. Life isn't perfect. If it was I'd be working at the museum now, food wouldn't be allowed in cinemas and Steve wouldn't be screeching his way into the car park at half nine at night when he should be at home.

'Steve, what are you doing here?'

'Got to speak to Sharon, mate.' He stuttered, slamming the door to his Skoda.

'Is everything OK?'

I've never seen Steve at work past at least 6pm. Seeing him in the stark spring moonlight was a little unsettling.

'It's Mary.'

Oh, God. I've said it before and I’ll say it again. Woman shouldn't wrestle. She's probably broken her back jumping off something on to someone. Or something.

'Oh yeah?'

'She's...'

Steve held his hands out in front of me.

'Lost her hands?' I guessed.

How can you loose your hands while wrestling? It's getting far too violent. The town hall should ban it.

'No.' He spat at me. 'She's...'

His voice trembled as his broke from the sentence, clutching the bridge of his nose with both thumbs.

'What? Pregnant?'

'Yeah...'

At least I thought he said 'yeah', it was more of a muffled squeal.

'You're joking?'

'I'm not.' He over pronounced. 'You think this is a joke? The only joke I tell is the one about the Jelly Baby in the doctors.'

That is a great joke.

'Wow...' I said, biting my lip.

'Couple of weeks. I need to tell Sharon.'

'And Darren. That's Mary's manager.'

'Oh yeah...'

He was just going to book time off for himself if it wasn't for me reminding him.

'Why didn't you just phone up...instead of coming all the way up here?'

'I panicked.'

'So you just left her in the flat?'

'She's watching a film.'

There's a baby growing inside you, but don't let it put you off Toy Story 2, love.

'Well...congratulations.'

'What?' He stared me down.

'It's...it's good news...isn't it?'

Steve stared at the floor.

'No!' He finally shouted. 'Mary is having a baby!'

'Both of you are having a baby.' I corrected him.

'Whatever.'

Steve marched up the store. Wow, Steve. A father. All that pointless knowledge passed on. Say what you like about what will become of the child, but if you want a kid with a wrestling mum and an infinite knowledge of Led Zeppelin’s back catalogue, you know where to go. Tommy wandered over to me. He joins me on Thursday nights, usually with one earphone dangling from his neck and a bottle of Lucozade in his hand.

'What's he doing here?' He muttered.

Since I started going out with his sister there's been an obvious void in conversation. He's not the most talkative teenager out there, but I had to be kind for Allison's sake.

'Steve and Mary are going to have a baby.'

''Awww...'

At first I thought he was being nice.

'I know kids are fat at first, but that one will take the piss...'

Congrats, then.

I didn't see Steve for again that night. By ten o'clock his skoda was missing from the car park but the next day he turned up. Half an hour late and unshaven.

'Sorry, mate. Been a rough night.'

'I thought all this starts once you have the baby? Not a few weeks in.'

'We sat up all night talking.' Steve scratched his grey stubble. 'Knackered. Going to ask Sharon if I can go early.'

Brilliant. The kid probably hasn't even for fingernails yet and already Steve is taking the piss. Allison was on holiday today, away in the caravan with her parents down in Cornwall for the weekend, a bit of a late birthday treat. So I joined Mary and a piss-taking Steve for my dinner.

'Congrats, Mary.' I smiled, sitting down with a sandwich.

'Thanks.' She gleamed. '

I took it as read that Mary actually wanted the baby. Why wouldn't she think otherwise? Steve would be a great Dad. There's an art form to piss-taking that needs to be passed on. He was the man for that. He hadn't done a minute's work since he pulled up.

'You excited?' I grinned.

'Yeah. I've always wanted a baby since I babysat for Julie, my sister. We stayed up last night planning things, didn't we Steve?'

'Um? Oh, yeah.' Steve blinked, holding back a yawn.

'Just applied for a new house. That reminds me, Steve. We're going to have to clear out the spare room if we get it. For the baby.'

'The Den?'

'Yes.' Mary stared him down.

'But...where am I going to put all of my records?'

'Use the garage.'

'The Bat Cave?'

'Yeah, or sell them. We'll need all the money we can get once it arrives.'

'Mary...my vinyl collection is worthless.'

'You mean 'priceless'?' I asked.

'Yes. Priceless. Besides, I already tried selling them. It wasn't my fault those people at the car boot don't know what real music sounds like!'

'And that game thingy...' Mary said.

'The XBOX?'

'Yeah, I bet that would go for a bit...' Mary nodded.

'Jesus...' Steve sighed. 'Being a parent...you have to sacrifice, don't you?'

Yeah, a second hand games console and Deep Purple's greatest hits. It's tough being a father.

A View To An ill

It was ten in the morning on another bullshit Wednesday, half an hour away from my timely planned breakfast with Allison, whose birthday it was today, and ten minutes into Steve’s conversation with Kenny. Steve has about a dozen regular customers he chats with on certain days. Every conversation is different but repatitive enough to get bored instantly. And only because there’s nowhere else to go, I stand beside Steve and watch the conversation unfold. Wednesday is Kenny day, a retired electrician who insists on wearing a dirty white tank top in all weathers, cackling with Steve about D.I.Y and old TV shows. 

The nice thing to do would be to, at some point, involve me into the chat, maybe with a nod in my direction, a chance to offer of my own opinion about a certain type of screwdriver. But no, Steve doesn’t work like that. He chats and chats as if i’m not there. It’s safe to say that after about a year of weekly conversations, Kenny and I are complete strangers and if it wasn’t for the fact that I wear the excact same uniform as Steve, Kenny would think that I was some weird stalker, thriving off half-arsed chats about how to build a shed.

I took my breakfast early, slowly walking up to the canteen. Luckily Allison was already up there, on a table surrounded by a few of her checkout friends with cards and little pink gift bags. I nodded with recognition and got myself a drink from the vending machine. My phone vibrated in my pocket, as it if was in sync with the heavy drop of the can in the machine. It was an Unknown Number. Sometimes I ignore unknown numbers, but today was Allison’s birthday, so why not be nice to people.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh, hello. Is that Dylan?’ A gentle voice answered me. ‘This is Maureen. Bernard’s wife? From the museum.’

‘Oh, hello. Maureen. How are you?’

‘Good, thank you. Well, I’m ringing regarding Bernard.’

It’s nice how Bernard allows his wife to make his calls for him. Maybe she is her part-time secretry. It’s how middle class people work. Allison looked over and I mouthed the word ‘Bernard’. She smiled sweetly and opened another card.

‘He’s been taken ill.’

Oh.

‘Oh...’ I said after quite a long pause. ‘Sorry to hear that...’

‘Yes, it’s nothing serious, really...’

That fact that she said ‘really’ made me not so sure.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, we think he got in on holiday. The emergency doctor has been out twice.’

‘Oh...’

Emergency doctor? That’s two of the worse words that have ever been put together. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t ask her the holiday was for her. How was it, Maureen? Did you do much sunbathing? Any duty free?

‘Yes, it wasn't bad...considering.’ She said softly, her voice cracking. ‘So, I’m afraid you won’t here from him. Not for awhile at least. The museum is on hold but he’ll keep you in mind.’

Keep me in mind? The man’s ill. He’s not going to remember me. An emergency doctor sees you and you forget everything else. I wished him and her well and bleeped my phone off,  as if that was in sync with another roar of laughter from Allison’s table. I wondered over and took a seat.

‘What did Bernard say?’ Allison smiled.

Not much.

‘Erm...nothing much. Just a catch up...’

‘When do you start?’ She beemed.

‘He’s ill...’

Allison’s face fell. It was her birthday.

‘But I’m going in next week. Sorting out shifts.’

Another roar of laugher from the table, in celebration of my job and Allison’s birthday. Allison chose to tell the whole table about the job at the museum whilst I was on the phone. Stupid Allison, being proud of me and telling her friends about my job opportunities.

‘So, what are you two doing for her birthday?’ Suzie asked, the blonde haired girl next to me.

‘We’re going to the cinema tonight. Watching that new film with that bloke from Star Trek.’

‘It looks really cool.’ Allison smiled. ‘So, did Bernard mention the wage?’

It’s her birthday, why is she asking me about my life? Your birthday is all about you. Stop being so bloody selfless!

‘No, no.’ I sighed. ‘But i’m sure it’ll get sorted out. In time.’

How long does it take to recover from an illness that requires an emergency doctor? I tried to Google it but I got no luck, and Ask Jeeves is a load of shit.

I walked back down to the car park. Steve was still chatting away with Kenny, now sat on a bit of railing and scratching his back with his car keys.

‘Alright lads.’ I tried.

Steve looked at me, nodded and went back to his conversation. That guy has no idea about my museum troubles.

‘Dickhead.’ I said.

‘Sorry?’ Steve flinched.

‘Buying a shed.’ I smiled. ‘Knob.’ I muttered.

People say swearing is for the uneducated. Fucking idiots.

It's All About The Money

‘Take those sunglasses off, you’re not Bono.’

Steve was in a bad mood today. His Skoda was playing up, some World Of Warcraft figurines hadn’t turned up in the post and to top it all off, Alex was wearing sunglasses indoors.

‘Arsehole.’ Steve added, under his breath.

‘Sorry.’ Alex said softly.

Bit of an overreaction if you ask me. Alex was only weeks away from his wedding and over the last few days, he had a confident and mature air about him. He’d even taken down those novelty pair of tits from the back of his car.

‘Steve, that was a bit harsh.’ I said.

‘Sorry, I’m a bit off today.’ He confessed. ‘Not seen Mary for a few days. She’s been working a lot more. We have to pay for our holiday somehow!’

And where does an old rocker and a wrestling goth go on their holidays?

‘Disneyland won’t pay for itself.’

‘Disneyland?’

‘Yeah, so?’

I thought twice about questioning it. He looked far too disgruntled. The three of us strolled down the seasonal aisle, past the 47 different kinds of barbecue’s we have on sale and towards the warehouse doors. Darren had asked us all to stock up on our new summer range of bags. 20p dearer than the normal ones, with flowers scattered all around it. As we got to the doors we were met with the site of Bargainman. That’s not his actual name, you can probably guess, just a name we had christened him over the years, in honour of his overwhelming passion for a bargain. Of course, we all love a bargain. It’s one of those things in life that get you a spark of excitement. That’s normal. It’s a normal thing to feel. But what’s not normal is skipping around a supermarket for hours on end, hunting through the shelves like a predator, seeking out items that may be marked down in price. He’s always the last out of the place when we shut, scuttling out the doors with a trolley full of treats. Dozens and dozens of items, from discounted meat to broken packs of cheese. At the end of his day his trolley with be full, even though he’ll only spend around two pound fifty.

‘Afternoon.’ Steve nodded at him.

‘Oh, alright boys.’ Bargainman flinched.

He shot is eyes towards us, scanning our faces and motives for being near him.

‘Got a few bargains, have you?’ I smiled.

‘...Yeah.’

His eyes narrowed, as if I was about to clock out, rush over to him and steal his 3 week old beans and sweaty ham. A few moments of silence overtook us, the four of us caught in an interlocked gaze.

‘What’s that smell?’

I forgot to mention, Bargainman absolutely stunk. Like a horse had fallen into a tip.

‘Come on, lads.’ I walked towards the doors. ‘Those bags won’t shift themselves.’

In the warehouse, the three of us filled our trolleys with heavy, vacuum packed bags.

‘He’s a millionaire, you know.’ Steve sniffed.

‘What?’

‘Bargainman. He’s loaded.’

‘Bull-shit.’ I smiled.

‘Honest. He won the lottery seven years ago. Janice told me. He’s rolling in it.’

Bargainman? A millionaire? He doesn’t look like a millionaire. Mind you, what does a millionaire look like? They don’t all walk around in gold jewellery, flashy suits and buying lavish goods. That’s just Elton John. Not all millionaires look like Elton John.

‘Why the hell would he spend his days crawling around the bargain bins if he’s rolling in it?’

‘Haven’t you seen those documentaries on the tele? About lottery winners who go the car boot sales?’

I must have missed that one. I just scoffed and threw another pack in my trolley.

‘Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me!’  

At first I considered going straight over to the man and asking him if he was a millionaire or not, but after a few seconds, I realised that was a bit much. It's not really the done thing, asking someone if they're loaded or not. It's like asking a woman her age, it never ends well. Particularly when you try to guess it instead. Believe me, that's never a good idea.

'I can't do that...'

I left the words hanging around in the noisy warehouse. Steve and Alex just looked at me, confident that I would. They had a right to be confident, because six minutes later I was stood in front of the man, trying to avoid my nostrils from picking up his strong scent.

'Alright, mate.' I raised my eyebrows.

'Yeah...you?' He mumbled, re-arranging the bargains in his trolley to make room for even more bargains.

'Did you see that documentary last night? On the tele?'

'No. Don't watch much tele...' He said.

'Cracking, it was. About people...at car boot sales.'

I left out the millionaire bit, seemed a bit too harsh. Now my description of the TV show sounded unbelievably boring.

'Oh, right.'

Another moment of silence passed.

'Any holidays recently?' I asked him cheerily.

'No, went to Wales last year.'

Wales? Do millionaires go to Wales? Surely not.

'Steve...the bloke from before...he's going to Disneyland.' 

'Disneyland?' He finally looked at me.

'Yeah...' I giggled.

I ran out of ideas. Other than just asking him if he was a millionaire, I had nothing. Could I ask him for a tenner? 

'So, any plans for toni...'

'I'm busy.' He interrupted me.

I scrunched my lips up and nodded, listening to the wheels of his trolley squeak past me. In a rush of panic and curiosity, I went for it.

'Are you a millionaire?'

The wheels squeaked to a halt. He turned his head towards me and stared me down. A second later, he was an inch away from my nose.

'What?'

'Steve said that...'

'I am sick of this stupid little rumour...'

Steve  popped his head down the aisle.

'Alright, lads.'

'Keep your trap shut.' Bargainman spat at me, kneeing me square in the bollocks.

I went down like like a sack of swollen testicles, Bargainman gazed over at Steve.

'Disneyland? What are you, eight years old?'

He scuttled off with his trolley of treats. Steve hovered over me.

'Why did you tell him that!'

'Because you told me he was a millionaire!' I squealed. 'He probably owns it, he'll give you discount!'

'Naa...he's not that rich...'

This post is dedicated to Dougie 'The Greeter' Robinson.

Naming Of The Shrew (Part Two)

It definitely begins with a T, I know that much. Terry? No, he doesn't look like a Terry. Terry's are builders. Or big bulldogs or something. No, he's definitely not a Terry. Tony? No. Timmy? Oh, I hope not.

I walked slowly to Sharon's office, hoping that my pace would calm down my thoughts. Making them clear and rational. I felt offended for him. My old primary school friend. So many memories. So many...Tobias? No, I think not. Sharon's door was open, almost silently inviting me in to take a seat. She had her back turned to me, peering out of her huge glass window.


'Afternoon, Sharon.'

She turned around, holding the smoke in her lungs from one of her long cigarettes. Gazing at me as she slowly let it out.


'Dylan, are you aware of recent...events in this company.'
'No...'
'Recent...sackings.'

Sackings? I'm getting the sack? I'm being sacked? Where did 'sack' come from anyway?


'No, I don't...'
'We've had to let a few people go, Dylan.' She sat down. 'For drug dealing on the premises.'
'Oh...'

It sounds like a silly reply, but that was natural. I had no idea, of course. We've not heard of any drugs on the car park. Apart from that time Steve was offered some by a young lad. Steve didn't even know what the drug was.


'Who was that you were just talking to?' She nodded towards the window.

Straight away I knew what she was trying to get at. Me and a 'stranger', meeting up in a car park. I can see how it would seem that way. In a way he is a stranger. I don't know proper stranger's names either.


'Oh, no. Sharon...that was an old school friend of mine.' I laughed quickly, my throat cracking.
'Really? Didn't seem like much of friend to me. It was very...brief.'

People always have the upper hand when they leave long pauses before words. Like baddies in Bond films. I can do that.


'He had to go, he was late for a... barbecue.'

That just sounded like I was making it up.


'What's his name?'

Shit. Shitting shit shitter. Terry. Tony. Timmy. No, not Timmy.


'Tony.' I said.
'Tony?'
'Yes. We are going to have a bit of a catch up. He give me his number.'
'Ring him.'

I paused. Letting the two words seep into my brain.


'Ring him?'
'Yes. Now.'
'OK.'

I dove into my pocket and figited about, digging my phone out. I went into my phone book and pressed the little green button. My phone was ringing someone called 'Primary School.'


'Hello?'
'Hi...'

Shit, what did I say his name was?


'Timmy.'
'...I think you're got the wrong number, pal.'
'What's he saying?' Sharon blurted.

I shrugged. Sharon told me to put it on to speaker phone mode.


'Mate. It's me...Dylan.'
'Dylan?' The voice rattled.
'Yeah...'

Suddenly I realised there was no conversation to be had.


'So...you alright?'
'Dylan, give me the phone.' Sharon snatched it off me. 'Who's this?' Putting the phone close to her face.
'...Well, surely my old mate Dylan can tell you that.' 

Sharon looked up at me. And I'm sure if my old friend was in the room he'd be looking at me to.


'OK, it's either Tony or Terry?'
'Terry?' Sharon squawked. 'He's not a builder, is he?'
'No, I'm not.' The voice from the phone rattled again.

I snatched the phone back from Sharon and began my apology.


'Look, I'm sorry mate. I'm terrible with remembering names. I know we've been through a lot but I just can't Thomas!, it's Thomas! Thomas, you're name's Thomas, isn't it?'

Sharon glared at me through the silence. We both listened to the phone click as he ended our conversation. I got chucked out of Sharon's office and ten minutes later I got a text message.


'It's Richard, dick head.'

Naming Of The Shrew (Part One)

It had been two weeks since my glorious day at the museum, the day I embarrassed Jason and taught a successful lesson of  primary school children in front of my girlfriend's mum and the man I wanted a job from. Three fantastic things in one and quite frankly, if only one of those things happen in a year I'd have been happy. But since then, Bernard had taken a holiday. Fourteen days in Madrid with his wife, Maureen. He said he'd get back to me when he'd gotten back to England, and we'd discuss my future at the museum, leaving ample time for me to sit back and be proud of that great day. But of course I couldn't, as I hadn't stopped working at the supermarket.

Steve hadn't asked me about the museum. Why would he? It didn't involve him or anything to do with an XBOX, why would he be interested? But I was determined to let people know I was doing something other than pushing trolleys, crowbarring references into every single conversation I was having. Sonia at the kiosk heard all about my day teaching school children, even though I was buying a packet of chewing gum and there was a long cue for the lottery. The receptionist got an earful and even the man in the cash point cue, who was startled to hear the specification of the computers we use over there. Still, glad to hear he was interested.

But Steve wasn't. He was too busy applying layers upon layers of sun cream his mum bought him earlier that day, re-angling his Iron Maiden cap on his head and making high pitched noises to show he was hot. This time last year it was trying to snow, now it seemed the whole town was buying stacks of beers and meat for the barbeque's.


'Yeah...' I gazed into the sun. 'Bernard said he'll ring me back...'
'Who?' Steve asked.
'Bernard...from the museum. He's on holiday in Greece.'
'I want a holiday. Been looking on teletext every night.'
'Why don't you try the internet?'
'The what?'
'You know...just Google holidays?'
'Google Holidays?'
'Yeah...'

Steve stared at me. I gazed back, shielding my eyes from the sun.


'There are holidays...' I said slowly. 'On the internet.'
'Is that on the computer?'
'Yeah...on the internet.'
'We didn't have the interweb at our Poly-tech, you know. We had to graft. On our own. Blood, sweat and tears.'
'What did you study?' I asked.
'...Art and Design.'

The only blood came from a nasty paper-cut, presumably.


'They have them in library's, too.' I tried.
'Oh, right.' Steve nodded. 'I went in there last Thursday. Needed a slash.'

I was about to tell him more about where to find cheap holidays when I man walked up to his car in front of us. He bleeped the boot open and threw in a couple of instant barbecue boxes.


'I know him.' I whispered to Steve.
'Oh yeah?'
'Yeah, went to school with him.'

He was wearing those khaki odd length pants, a vest top and overly large sunglasses. He was about to jump into his car when he looked up at us. There were a few moments of awkward smiles and nodding, when Steve piped up.


'All right, mate.'
'Yeah. Cheers.' He said coolly.

Before he sat in the car his eyes shot over to me.


'Dylan? Dylan James?'
'All right, mate.' I repeated Steve's greeting.
'I can't believe it. How long has it been?!'


He whisked over to me and gave me a warm and strong handshake, smiling with all the positivity of a Beach Boys song.


'Years. Years and years.'

When the handshake came to an end, I suddenly was aware of Steve's presence.

'Oh, Steve this is...'

Bang. There is was. The moment I realised I had absolutely no idea what this man's name was. We'd been through it all, as I can remember. Sports Days. Parent's Evenings. School Plays. The lot. And now, more than ten years on, I hadn't the faintest. Back than I could have probably told you his shoe size and favourite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Now. Nothing.


'...a friend of mine from primary.'

I had to talk again to block out any confirmation of his name if Steve would ask.


'We got up to all sorts, didn't we?' I said to him.
'Oh, yeah. Remember that time we hid in the bushes to get out of P.E?'
'Do I remember it? The nettles stung for about a bloody week!'

We both laughed. This was getting rather convincing. I was proud of myself.


'We'll have to meet up someday. Catch up.' He smiled.

Of course I agreed. That's what you do, isn't it? You meet anyone from your past, love them or hate them, you'll agree to see them again.


'Brilliant. Give us your number.' I said.

I got out my phone and pressed a few buttons. He read out his number as I typed it in, his eyes focussed on the screen. The flashing bar moved down to the 'Name' entry. I cleared my throat and thought for a moment. I could just press OK and have the number in my phone, with no name attached to it. An anonymous row of numbers. But seconds has elapsed, even Steve couldn't help me. I angled the phone towards my chest and typed words that I could remember.


'What have you wrote?' He bent the phone back whilst giggling. '...Primary School?'

Anyone would do the same! If you don't know someone's name you think of name so you'll recognise who your numbers are. That's why a mate of my Dad's who built us our shed is called 'Shed Man'. Surely he can't be offended by it.

'Oh my God.' My old school friend took off his glasses. 'You don't remember my name, do you?'
'Yeah, course. It's just this bloody thing.' I tapped my phone. 'It's new. Can't find the right button.'


I began to sweat. Steve just smiled.


'Well...you want to start with that one.'

 He pointed at the buttons. In the direction of either to R or the T. I couldn't quite tell. I just had to guess, slowly pressing the T button and looking up at him to make sure.


'That right?' I said softly.

He glared at me, put his sunglasses back on and marched to his car.


'Nice one.' Steve laughed, the distant revving engine distorting his voice.

Things couldn't have gotten worse. Oh, apart from Sharon wanting me in her office just seconds later.



End of part one.