Love Your Enemies (14 page)

Looking at his watch, John realized that it was almost the end of his lunch hour. He was just about to turn around when he caught sight of a young shorn-headed man standing in the doorway of the next shop along with a jacket slung over his arm. It was a silver jacket which was beautifully beaded on its back with some sort of colourful illustration. It looked silver and yet it wasn’t a plastic or a leather jacket that had been spray-painted silver, it was a sort of soft, flickering silver velvet which shone and glistened like something organic. The young man was talking to someone who appeared to be a friend. He passed him the jacket and then gave him a peck on the cheek. His friend smiled, waved and then walked away. John waited a few seconds and then approached the young man before he’d had time to turn round and re-enter the shop. He smiled and said, ‘Excuse me, would you tell me where you got the jacket that you were just holding?’

Steve smiled back at John, who seemed rather too middle-aged and tedious in his business suit to constitute a serious customer, ‘That jacket comes from this shop. It’s an original design so we only have a couple of them. Would you like to come in and see?’

John looked at his watch again and then thought, ‘What the hell.’

He followed Steve into the shop. As he entered he noticed his helper giving a significant look to a girl who was standing leaning against the changing-room rail with a cigarette in her
left hand and a copy of
Vogue
in her right. She looked up aggressively and then – somewhat surprisingly – immediately broke into a smile. John smiled back, but he kept his lips closed and his mouth formal. The young man said, ‘I’m Steve, by the way. Hi.’ He then sat down on a stool by the till and added, ‘Melissa will serve you.’

Surprised at Steve’s reticence to serve him John turned to the girl and said, ‘I’m looking for a silver jacket like the one your friend …’ He tipped his head in Steve’s direction, but Steve was apparently already engrossed in what appeared to be
The Age of Reason
, ‘… the one like your friend just had over his arm outside the shop.’

Melissa’s expression took on the trace of a slight sneer at the mention of the jacket. Vaguely uneasy, John added, ‘If that’s all right.’ Then she smiled again. ‘Sure, that’s fine.’

She turned away and pulled a couple of hangers back to locate the item in question, then passed it to him. She said, ‘Here you go. It’s the last one we have, well, we only had two anyway. Nice fabric, isn’t it?’ John took hold of the jacket and ran his hand over the material, which was as soft as a peach. Melissa watched him for a moment and then said, ‘Were you thinking of buying this for yourself?’

John realized that this must seem like a rather ridiculous proposition. He shook his head slowly. She said, ‘I’m not surprised. It is rather, well, rather gaudy, isn’t it?’

As Melissa said this she stared over his shoulder at Steve. She glared. John thought her strange and distracted. She made him feel ill-at-ease, with her bright clothes and short greased-back hair. He appreciated that he was under some obligation to explain his purpose, so he began to say, ‘It’s not so much the jacket I’m interested in as …’

Before he could finish his sentence, however, Melissa said, ‘Hang on a sec,’ and walked away from him over to the till, whereupon she snatched the book Steve was reading from his hand and picked up a pen. She turned to the title page and
began to write with great vigour. Then she slammed the book down on the counter and returned to John’s side.

Steve picked up his book looking highly disgruntled and irritated. He turned to the front page where Melissa had written in a large scrawl,
THIS GUY IS SOME SORT OF MEDIA SALESMAN. I BET HE SELLS CRAP ON THE PHONE. HE’S GOT THAT SORT OF SMOOTH VOICE. EAT SHIT ARSEHOLE
. Steve closed the book and placed it back down again.

On Melissa’s return to his side John continued, ‘It’s not so much the jacket I’m interested in as the material.’

The girl’s eyes were glassy and unfocused. She paused for a second and took a drag on her cigarette. ‘What?’

John began to feel irritated. He said, ‘I want to find out about the material, if that’s not too much trouble.’

Melissa stared over at Steve and said, ‘Steve can help you on this one.’ She turned away and wandered to the back of the shop to fill the kettle in anticipation of her victory.

John was beginning to feel fairly disorientated. Steve stood up and strolled over to him saying, ‘What was it you wanted?’

John was growing tired of repeating himself. He said, ‘I want some of this material to line a coffin with.’

He expected the young man to show some surprise at this request, but instead he didn’t appear to have listened and was now suddenly staring at John with what seemed to amount to a look of recognition. He then said, ‘I don’t mean to be nosy or anything, but don’t you work in a media sales department. You know, selling stuff on the phone?’

John frowned. ‘I said I wanted some of this material to line a coffin. Are you listening to me? What the hell do media sales have to do with anything?’

He was determined to possess some of the material that he held in his hand; it was as soft as tears, softer. Steve had the good sense to look slightly embarrassed. What the man was saying about coffins had just sunk in. He stared at John
incredulously for a few seconds and then asked tentatively, ‘May I ascertain from this that you are a coffin-maker?’

John appreciated the fact that this revelation must make him seem rather strange. The girl, Melissa, was staring at him with open-mouthed hostility. He thought, ‘Maybe people don’t like talking about death in high-fashion shops.’

He waited for a second and then said, ‘Well I’m a sort of carpenter. I do things on commission, if you see what I mean. At the moment I happen to be making a coffin, yes.’

Steve began to smile at him. His face was very rosy and genuine when he smiled. He then said – rather inexplicably in John’s opinion – ‘God bless you!’ and looked over at Melissa, ‘Thirsty are we dear?’ He started to laugh and went to sit down again; then picked up his book and ripped out the title page with great showiness. The girl looked very upset. John didn’t know exactly what it was that he’d done to upset her but he presumed that it must be serious. She stalked towards him, took the coat and marched to the till. She said, ‘I know the girl who designs these, I’ll phone her and ask where she got the material from.’ She dialled a number, smiling tremulously over her shoulder at John as she waited for an answer. She held on for a minute or so and then hung up. ‘She isn’t in, I’m afraid.’

John shrugged. He’d had enough. He said, ‘It doesn’t matter,’ and turned to leave. But before he’d reached the door the girl was at his side and had rather inappropriately grabbed hold of his arm. She said, ‘Don’t go. I could try the number again.’

John was slightly shaken. He felt stupid and naïve. He felt disappointed too and oddly tearful. He pulled his arm away and said clumsily, ‘What would you care anyway? Go back and read your stupid magazine.’

The girl seemed to freeze. She stared at him and suddenly her face was very simple and uncomplicated. She said, ‘Have I upset you somehow? I really didn’t mean to. I really do care.’

She said the last few words with especial emphasis. John blinked. His eyes felt ridiculously damp. She stared at him. He said, ‘Your cigarette smoke got into my eyes. I’m allergic, that’s all.’

She said again, ‘I really do care. I’m sure that I could get hold of some of that material for you. I know I could. I promise.’

John shrugged helplessly. He didn’t know what to do. Melissa was looking nervously around her and rubbing her nose in a gesture which seemed to express a mixture of both embarrassment and confusion. Then she said, ‘I know, give me your phone number and when I get through to the designer I can phone you and tell you where she got her supply from.’

John pondered this idea for a moment, and placed his hand against the door frame for support. As he touched the painted wood his hand felt very cold. He could feel the wood but he couldn’t properly feel it. His hand felt as though it had randomly been given a local anaesthetic. Surprisingly, his face and especially his tongue, felt very cold too. He blinked, realizing that these sensations had distracted him from the conversation at hand. Melissa was still staring at him. She looked confused. After a second she said, ‘Are you all right? You don’t look too well all of a sudden.’

John lied with surprising ease. His father had died of diabetes. He said, ‘My blood-sugar levels get slightly low sometimes. This trip into town takes it out of me a bit. I didn’t prepare for it. I’ll get a taxi home, don’t worry.’

His knees felt like cardboard, flimsy and thin. The doctor had said this would happen. It had happened before. He said again for emphasis, ‘I’ll get a taxi,’ and turned. Unfortunately the words didn’t come out this time as quickly as he’d anticipated. He’d turned before the first two syllables had been completed by his spongy and ineffective tongue, and the force of his turn caused him to slam into the door frame. Melissa grabbed hold of his arm and said, ‘Wait, I’ll go and call one for you.’

She dashed out of the shop and ran to the top of the road and on to a busier street, where she tried to hail a cab.

Steve approached John’s gradually collapsing form and, putting his arm around his waist, pulled him down into a sitting position. He sat by him on the step. He said softly, ‘Can you say your address?’ John nodded, humiliated, and started to mumble. Steve got up and went to the till where he grabbed a pen and the first bit of paper that came to hand, then he returned to John’s side and patted his arm as he said, ‘Go on then, slowly.’

Breathing deeply, John gradually formed each word. It took an immense effort. He felt very tired, and his eyes kept blinking.

In a couple of minutes Melissa returned to the shop with a taxi in tow. When she saw John slumped on the step she felt intensely sorry for him. Steve said, ‘Come and help him up at the other side. I don’t know whether we shouldn’t send him to hospital.’

John shook his head violently at this suggestion. He drawled, ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’

Together they lifted him up and eased him into the taxi. John helped as best he could although he felt very drowsy and ineffectual. Melissa said, ‘Maybe I should go home with him, Steve?’

John said, ‘No, I’m fine!’ as emphatically as he could, putting out one of his hands in the gesture a traffic warden might use to stop oncoming traffic: palm flat, arm outstretched. Steve handed the taxi driver the paper that he’d written the address on and said, ‘Are you sure that you’ve got the money to pay for this taxi?’

John nodded very determinedly although his eyes were closed, and patted at his jacket where his inside pocket was located with a floppy hand. He said, ‘I’m fine,’ and waved sloppily. Steve slammed the door shut and thanked the taxi driver. He also added by way of explanation, ‘Don’t worry,
he’s not drunk, he’s a diabetic.’ The taxi driver nodded and answered cheerily, ‘I don’t mind what he is so long as he doesn’t smoke or vomit.’ He then performed a three-point turn and sped away.

Melissa and Steve stood together on the pavement watching the taxi disappearing into the traffic at the top of the road. Steve said, ‘God, I really feel bad about this. We’ve been so fucking insensitive and awful. Maybe it’s our fault.’

Melissa had entirely forgotten that she was angry with him. She wiped the corners of her mouth furtively with her first finger and thumb to ensure that her red lipstick hadn’t bled or smudged in all the excitement. Then she stared at him with her deep brown eyes and said, ‘What do you mean? I said I’d get him some material and I will.’ Steve snorted, ‘It’s not the bloody material that’s the issue here, Melissa, it’s the way we both behaved. We must’ve seemed really rude. We obviously confused and distressed him. We upset him and I think that’s why he got ill.’

Melissa looked bemused. She said, ‘What are you talking about, Steve? We were only having a bit of fun. He wanted some material and I phoned for him, which is more than most people would’ve done.’

Steve felt helpless and furious. He looked into Melissa’s eyes and frowned. ‘I can’t work out if you’re just stupid or if you’re simply insensitive. I think the scales are weighed quite heavily in both directions.’

She smiled humourlessly, ‘That’s an appropriate image. I’m a Gemini.’

Steve turned his back on her and re-entered the shop. Eventually Melissa followed him in. He had made himself a cup of tea and was talking on the phone. After a few seconds he hung up and said, ‘I was getting that guy’s phone number while I still have his address in mind.’ He had written John’s address and phone number down on a till receipt in tiny writing. Melissa frowned. ‘What are you doing that for?’ Steve
shrugged, ‘So I can phone him when I’ve got some information on the material. Anyway, I think that it’d be nice to know that he was OK.’

Melissa slammed her hand down hard on the top of the till and said, ‘I didn’t mean “what are you doing that for?”, I meant “what are
you
doing that for?” He’s my customer, I’ll deal with him over the phone.’ Steve laughed nastily. He said, ‘It’s a bit late to be getting all possessive, don’t you think? You’ve already said outside that you don’t give a shit; well I do.’

Melissa’s face was angry and blotchy. ‘I said no such thing! Of course I’m concerned. I said I’d get him the material and I will.’

Steve grabbed his tracksuit jacket which was slung over the back of the chair. He put it on and half-zipped it up. As he walked to the door he said, ‘I’m going out for a walk and to get some lunch. Can you manage alone while I’m out?’

Melissa had picked up the till receipt and was studying it. ‘Of course I can. I think I’ll try and phone again while you’re gone.’

He didn’t bother responding.

John remembered very little about getting home. When he awoke he felt as though he had been asleep for several hours, but when he looked at his watch it was only twenty past two. His lunch break had formally ended about an hour earlier. He was stretched out on his living-room sofa, cushioned by numerous pieces of paper. Under his shoulder were a couple of pencils and a ruler. He chucked them on to the floor with one hand and arranged himself more comfortably. His body felt stiff and tight. He shut his eyes for a while and rested. Inside he felt bad about not returning to work. Usually he was extremely responsible and reliable. He debated the possibility of returning into town but then decided that in his present condition it might be more sensible for him to phone in and explain his relapse.