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.