9

       When I’m tired

      On the way home I stopped and sat on the wall near the shop, just to be in the sun. There were three kids messing around next to the bottle bank. The littlest reminded me of Katie. He had expressions on his face that must have come from other people: his stepdad, his older brother: a toughness, a blankness, that didn’t belong to him. Then he scowled, and looked for a minute like an older woman, maybe his mum. It’s like you come into the world a person, with something it means to be you. In no time – a few years – you’re carrying all these things you borrowed, like I started chewing my lip because Jim did. Those habits become what people meet in you.

      When I’m tired things are clear. It takes the edge off. I feel like a saint in a stained-glass window, everything coming to me in a halo, revelations.

      I shut my eyes and turned my face up. Orange. Red thread veins. Little things like bacteria moving. My body sleepy with a private hum like one of the machines.

      Hi. Excuse me, someone said.

      I opened my eyes. Everything yellow and blue, like a seventies film. A shirt, white, slim fit, tucked in. Brown trousers. Brogues, nice ones. Up again, slowly. He was standing close.

      Sorry to disturb you. (A golden voice. It had a softness it knew would please.) Do you have a light?

      His wrist, golden hairs, brown canvas watchstrap. The man from the pub.

      Yeah, I said.

      While I was looking for it he waited. He put out his hand. Thanks, he said. I watched him look down and light his cigarette. He inhaled, didn’t give me the lighter. Didn’t I see you in the Three Bells the other day? he said easily. In the garden?

      Oh! Oh, yeah, probably, I said. What day was that?

      He smiled. I’m not sure, he said. Few days ago. Wasn’t as nice as today.

      It’s lovely, isn’t it?

      It is. He smoked. I got out my tin and started rolling.

      He sat next to me on the wall to light it. Held on to the lighter, looked at it. I’d smelled his hand, nicotine and skin. It’s nice to smoke when it’s hot. Some days I want to smoke because something at work’s already irritated my throat. It’s like having a tooth that’s loose, or a cut that’s closing.

      What about a half in the Bells? he said. If you have time.

      I tried not to smile because the first thing I thought was but this never happens to me.

      Now? I said.

      Why not? he said.

      Could do.

      At the Bells we, Damian and me, smoked a lot. He bought the first drink. That’s when I found out his name. He handed me my beer and said, I’m Damian by the way. Claire, I said, but he didn’t hear because we were walking out to the garden. It was nearly full.

      Sorry, he said.

      Claire, I said again.

      Beer garden, it’s one of those phrases, like holiday home, it tells you you’re meant to be having a good time. I did a quick scan but didn’t see anyone I knew. Damian seemed comfortable. He rolled up his sleeves and put his arms on the table.

      So, Claire, do you live round here?

      I live with my son. Up the road. He’s sixteen, I said quickly. I always say it fast, because I don’t want to have to think about it later.

      He nodded. What’s his name?

      Jason.

      Jason and the Argonauts, he said.

      You didn’t say Jason Donovan, I said.

      Is he named after Jason Donovan?

      No.

      That’s good, he said. He laughed. I used to have the piss ripped out of me at school for looking like him.

      You don’t really, though, I said. He is blond, but his face isn’t the same. Blue eyes but a bit more round. He looks like a kid, especially when he laughs.

      I used to hate my name, he said. Everyone made fun of it. People thought I was posh.

      Are you?

      He looked down, shook his head.

      You don’t have an accent, I said.

      Moved around a bit, he said. His eyes asked for understanding. Tell me about you, Claire, he said.

      I turned my glass around. Not much to say, I said. Born and brought up here. I looked around the beer garden. Sometimes I feel like I’m not from here, I said. That I’ve moved around too. But I’ve never lived anywhere else.

      He nodded. Got lots of family here?

      I don’t see them much, I said. I noticed I was holding my glass tightly. I took a big sip, had to wipe my chin.

      Damian nodded. He was just listening, accepting what I said.

      What about your family? I asked.

      He smiled, waved his right hand. All over the place, you know, he said. Here and there.

      Right.

      And what do you do, Claire?

      I work at a shoe factory, I said. Up near Ketts Hill.

      Oh, really? That’s interesting.

      There were twenty or more factories at one time, I said. Loads of people worked in the shoe trade. I felt like a tourist guide.

      I think I’d heard that, he said. He took his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on. I felt relieved. People usually think it’s weird, or they say, I didn’t realise there were any shoe factories left.

      What do you do? I asked.

      He smiled. For a moment I saw my head in the glasses, distorted, waving.

      I sell children’s books, Claire. I’m a rep. I travel round and talk to bookshops about our titles. And schools. Books for little kids, he said. Not Jason’s age.

      I didn’t mind hearing him say Jason’s name. Normally I don’t like it when someone I don’t know uses it.

      He’d finished his drink. My arms were cold. I rubbed them. On the road, I heard traffic. It was beginning to turn into evening. A few more people filtered into the garden. Shall I get another? I asked.

      Can’t, he said. Got to go, meeting some people. He got up sudden and I did too. Can I give you a lift? he said. The car’s just round the corner.

      Oh no, I said. It’s only a minute.

      Well, see you again, Claire, he said, as though we met up every week. And he left. He still had my lighter, I realised when I got in.