Blockbusters
The Wheelwrights Arms public house stood on the
seafront. It silently begged for a fresh coat of paint as the salt-laden wind
ate away at its mock Tudor exterior. Inside, under dark-wood beams in the
largely empty bar Graham got them both pints and they repaired to a table in
the corner.
“How was your holiday then?” Martin asked
“Oh mate it was great. I loved it!”
Martin settled back to let Graham’s tales of his
adventures in South East Asia wash over him. They’d met at college and ten
years later Graham still had no proper job but had a way with words that he
could only admire.
Eventually Graham stopped talking and took a sip from
his pint. “Anyway, how’ve you been?” then, laughing “Still divorced you poor
sod?”
“Ah…y’know….” Martin began.
“I do indeed – women eh?” Graham was not married but
he knew a lot about relationships.
“I really don’t know if I’m honest. It’s been nearly a
year but last week I found myself on my hands and knees on the carpet sobbing
so…”
“Mate… You need to get over all this. Get up and get out!
Stop being one of those sad loners stuck to their PlayStations and be a bit
more fun maybe? I mean I love a catch up with you but…woah!”
Martin rolled his eyes in apology. “You’re right,
sorry. And I do appreciate you making the effort. Actually I auditioned for
that brass …”
“Look” Graham raised a hand to silence him “I know
it’s hard so I may have something to take the edge off for you.” He passed him
a small white plastic container.
“Paracetamol.” Martin read.
“No, dummy. They’re Paracetamol only for the purposes
of getting them through customs in my washbag.”
Martin nodded, silently berating himself for this
schoolboy error.
“I got them in Saigon. You can buy pills for anything
there. These are anti-depressants.”
“Anti-depressants?” he opened the tube, lots of small
white pills with smiley faces on them looked back.
“Well they called them happy pills – same thing. Maybe
they’re E’s. Anyway I took one and had THE BEST night! And now they are my holiday
gift to you.”
Martin was still unsure.
“Oh do NOT give me that face. Fucks sake, take one,
see if it helps a bit…”
Last time Graham had given him some pills he’d missed
most of a college party because people had turned into terrifying lizards and
he’d had to hide.
“Go on!” Graham cajoled him “it’ll cheer you right
up.”
Graham was right. It wasn’t fair for him to be such a
misery so he took one. Graham continued with a story about a boat trip where he
was allowed to use hand grenades to fish with. “Boom! Vietnam mate, anything
goes!”
Martin went to the bar, maybe he was feeling a bit of
a buzz? Hard to tell. He paid for another couple of pints and left them on the
bar while he popped to the toilets. They were at the back next to a small unlit
stage where faded posters suggested the great and the good had once played
here. Not any more.
He was in a stall in mid-pee when he heard two men
come in. “Did they send him down then?” “Yeah. To be hanged” “Poor bugger.” He
waited for them to leave (they did this without any hand-washing) before he
flushed & came out. “Nowt stranger than folk” as his grandad used to say.
Back in the bar he was surprised to see that the place
was now half-full with punters chatting and drinking. He grabbed his pints off
the bar then weaved his way back through the crowd towards Graham.
“Those pills working then? Graham grinned “I saw you staggering your way
back here.”
“Huh? Maybe a bit. Got busy though didn’t it?” Martin
gestured at the motley assembly of folk now in the pub.
Graham gave him a blank look. “Eh? Mate, you’ve lost
it. Anyway, where was I ?” He continued with his story of Saigon nightlife for
another twenty minutes.
“Right I have to make a move. You gonna stay and
finish that?” he nodded to Martin’s half-finished drink as he shrugged into his
coat to head for the door. “Laters.” Martin, sketched a wave and then hunched
back over his drink.
“Excuse me. Can I sit here?” It was a girl. Blonde
hair, cut short. “Been on my feet all day”. She grinned and sat anyway. “Seems
unfair you having that nice table all to yourself”
He was immediately uncomfortable and started to get up.
“Oh no! Stay! Sorry I’ve had a couple of drinks, I’m
not normally that rude. I’m good company, honest!” she mugged a very pretty winning
smile.
“Okay, I’m not much fun so I may be disappointing” he
said and sat back down again.
“People used to tell me I was no fun” she leant across
the table towards him. “But now I work in Blockbuster Video. The future of home
entertainment!” she did jazz hands to show how fun that might be. “So y’know,
anything can happen.”
Despite his nerves he could not let that go. He looked
her in the eye and did his mock American accent. “Have you been drinking ma’am?
I think you’ll find Blockbuster Video is no more.”
“Ha! You’re pretty funny! Whaddya do funny man?”
“Graphic Design”
“Well” she hiccupped “I have no real idea what that is
but I shall call you Graphics! I’m Julia.”
“My name’s Martin. I work mainly on Internet sites.”
It sounded as lame in his head as it did out loud.
“Inter sites? Like Inter-rail?” at this point she leant
back to the group standing behind her and smacked a man on the back. “Geoff!
Come on. It’s been all day.”
Geoff, retro-suited and booted, considered this then
dug in his waistcoat pocket and gave her a packet of cigarettes. She lit one
with relish while Martin goggled at her. “Calm down Graphics, I’ve cut right
back on these babies. Geoff’s helping.” Geoff winked at them and turned back to
his conversation with an older lady who had a pekinese in her arms.
”But you can’t smoke in here. No one can smoke indoors
anymore. It’s been against the law for years.”
“Oh Graphics, I’m not fooled.” She pointed in
succession at four other people puffing away and at the cloud of smoke up at
the ceiling. “but I love you for trying. Anyway, what’s your story? Nice chap
like you etc”. Again that happy smile.
So he told her. He told her of his utter misery. His
divorce, having to leave his home and live in a crappy flat, the constant sick
feeling in the pit of his stomach. At one point she took his hand across the
table.
“You, my friend, have been in the wars haven’t you?”
He gripped her hand but broke eye contact, trying to
get himself together.
She pretended not to notice. “Any bright side? Help me
out here.”
Deep breath. “I play the trumpet, I went for an
audition the other evening, so y’know, maybe that’d be fun. ”
“Trumpet! Well that’s your ticket out of here kid!
Smoke?” she offered one.
A sense of unreality washed over him.
“Julia” He really liked looking at her eyes.
“Martin.”
“Do you think you’re real?”
“Yes” she said
“And your friend Geoff, the natty 1940’s dresser?”
“Yes” she said
“And that chap over there. In the black coat and top
hat.”
“Roger? Yes. Nice man. Works in the police.”
“He’s wearing a top hat.”
“He always wears it. I like it.”
“And you don’t wonder if he’s real.”
“I don’t do a lot of wondering Martin. I’m too busy
with squeezing all the joy out of living.”
“Are you sure you’re living?”
“Are you sure YOU are?”
“Excuse me just a sec.” He returned to the bar and
leant casually on the polished wood. Two barman looked at him expectantly.
“Is it normally like this on a Thursday?”
They both answered.
“Dead as
anything it’s all big
tellies and beer at home these days”.
“Office crowds mate, gets crazy this close to Xmas”.
He nodded noncommittally and turned away wide-eyed
just in time to see everyone fade to nothing. They were all gone; as if the
Augmented part of an Augmented Reality app had clicked off and he was left
with…well…Reality. The remaining barman was polishing a glass and looking at
him quizzically. He leant back a bit too heavily on the bar.
“You alright mate? I saw you chatting away to yourself
over there.”
“Oh right – yeah, phone call.” He had a decision to
make and he made it ”Can I get another pint of best please?” He popped another pill
and washed it down as he walked back. He sat and looked out the window. It took
fifteen minutes and the pub was suddenly busy again, but Julia and her friends weren’t
there anymore.
In the back of the Uber he stared out at the increasingly
dishevelled streets as it made its way back to his flat. The battered entrance
door yielded to his wavering key after a brief struggle.
He
fired up his console to play a game before he went to bed. As he got immersed
in dodging through a ruined French town towards an enemy Panzer a part of his fuzzy
mind considered that he had clearly spent the evening with a bunch of ghosts.
The thought oddly didn’t bother him. A brief review of his life showed a single
failed marriage and a single friend; another layer on that reality was welcome.
And so to bed. The mournful cries of seagulls outside
roused him around 5am giving the day an air of misery from the off. From then he
was stuck in the zombie state of half-sleep until his alarm went off and he
blearily went through the motions of getting up and dressed.
Making tea he checked his phone and saw that at some
point he had missed a call. On the voicemail, In a satisfyingly stumbling way
Keith from The er.. Quality Brass Quintet thanked him for er… taking the time to
audition but regretted that his er… style wasn’t quite right for the group.
He gazed out the kitchen window at the communal bins below
in the car park where a few tatty gulls were scavenging someone’s leftover
McDonald’s. He’d allowed himself to be hopeful that was his mistake. He’d phoned
up, he’d gone in, he’d made eye contact (not too much) and smiled. He’d used
the small talk which he’d prepared in advance. But then Keith had said “Really?
Good luck!” when he’d said he’d prepared a Miles Davis piece. Suddenly nervous he
stumbled like a schoolboy over some of the faster sections like he’d never
blown a trumpet before. At the end there was silence in the practice room; he
was aware of the smell of furniture polish and his own sweat.
“Thanks!” said Keith “That was…” imperceptible pause
“…super! We’ll let you know”.
So that was that. He’d put himself “out there” like Graham
had suggested and this was his reward.
He was in between Graphic Design contracts at present and
with no work to do he lost himself in a game. With the VR headset on he
parachuted into exotic landscapes and teamed up with other, presumably equally
sad, loners (thanks Graham) in attacking strategic bases and accumulating
treasure.
Later he took off the headset and wondered if he was
hungry or if it was just the sick sadness again. Deciding it was genuine hunger
he went out to get food and instead of his usual dash round the mini-mart he walked
to the café. He would consider the slightly overbearing owner a ghost; just an
overlaid figure in this reality.
He sat at a table by the window, the sun streaming
warm over him and tucked into his full English. He felt so alone, untethered. With
his tea he took another pill. Why not…?
This time there was no gentle transition. He felt a
tightness in his chest and the world got dimmer for a second, then came back the
same but different. His plate and mug were gone. He looked carefully around. There
were a couple of labourers in cloth caps and rough jackets, hands clasped round
mugs as if warming their hands, a man in a double-breasted business suit sat at
the same table but was lost in a newspaper. An office girl, hair in a tight
bun, was pouting into a hand mirror touching up her lipstick, the business suit
glanced at her then back down. And there was Julia, sitting in the corner
munching a sandwich.
He waved at her and she bobbed across to come and sit
with him.
“Hey Graphics! It’s been a full twelve hours you
stalker! How are you Martin?”
“Fine. All good at “Blockbusters” today?”
She looked at him levelly. “Yes… What? I come here all
the time.”
Julia pointed
across the street. He was unsurprised to see that there was a familiar blue and
gold sign where there would normally be an estate agents.
He turned back and smiled despite himself.
“I failed that audition”
“Aw. I’m sorry Martin. Oh, but here’s the good news. Saturday
night is…” she did a drum roll “…open mike night down at the Wheelwrights!
Wanna come? Wanna bring your trumpet?”
No way. No. No. No. “Okay.”
The rest of the day was an agony of terror and excitement.
On the bus to the seafront he took three of the pills. Then as an afterthought
another half dozen, not wanting them to wear off too soon.
The Wheelwrights was busy but Julia was already at a
table. On the little stage lit by coloured spotlights a man was playing the
spoons with great enthusiasm.
“Hi!” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. I put your
name down. You’re on after Terry. Go Go!”
Terry finished with a flourish to scattered applause
and Martin found himself standing in his place. He could see Julia at the table
grinning at him. Geoff in a tweed jacket, gave him a thumbs up.
He started off with ‘Stella by Starlight’ faking Miles
Davis then, as a few people clapped along he upped the tempo to finish with a
section of ‘Rhapsody in Blue’.
Out of breath he collapsed to the floor, phenomenal
pain in his chest, the world fading to black. In the otherwise empty
Wheelwrights Arms the barman was calling for an ambulance.
Out of breath he stood grinning stupidly as the room
erupted in applause. Julia ran up and threw her arms around him. Over her
shoulder he could only see one barman now. He was lighting a cigarette.
