Weirdo (eBook)

My body recognised him first: the hairs on my arms priced. Then so did the rest of me when I turned around. His eyes were empty, though, as he ordered two gin and tonics.

‘Chris?’ I checked, even though it was definitely him.

‘Yeah?’ His tone conveyed no curiosity. He already didn’t care how I knew his name.

I fetched his drinks, held out the machine for tapping and asked no more questions. I didn’t panic. As he walked away I assured myself this wasn’t over. He’d probably warm up when he’d had a few, like he used to.

My view of Chris is obstructed now he’s sat down. I do get glimpses when the obstacle leans forward on his stool. I see a woman drinking the gin and tonic I made. Her dark hair is curly and shiny and she’s laughing without covering her mouth. I’ve still got his jumper at my house. I used to sleep in it and he doesn’t even remember me.

The obstruction’s name is Pete and he’s a ‘regular’, if I’m being polite about him. I can’t feel sorry for him because he takes up too much of my time and energy. The police station is next door and he comes in after work and drinks and talks at me. I say things like ‘Watch it, cheeky’ when he starts being disgusting. It’s better on Friday and Saturday when it’s busy and there are more ears around. Weekdays I only chat when he’s sober – how was his day, what new crimes are happening? Then when he starts asking his questions I fake-laugh and do my job. He’s on his second pint and telling me about an old lady who died in the bath and wasn’t found until days later, after all the water had evaporated. Pete, waiting with his next sentence while I served Chris, wanted my full attention. I turn back to him to signal that he can continue.

‘I had to wait for the coroners …’

I nod at Pete but another customer is approaching and it’s an easy choice. I wonder how long I can avoid the ending of the story. I wonder how Pete will die while I milk the optics of a double Baileys.

With my arm in the air I catch my own eye in the mirror behind the bar. My roots need doing and my concealer isn’t rubbed in properly. I look unimpressed. I wish I’d done something different. If I’d known Chris was coming in I could’ve worn a nicer top or had a smaller nose. I hate looking at myself because all I see is my mother. Her disappointed jowls waiting in my cheeks. I should’ve had my own face, not this mash-up mess of my parents’. I hear someone calling, ‘Abi.’

Leave me alone, Pete, get lost with your dead old bath lady.

‘ABI!!!’

I’ve overfilled the glass and Baileys is dripping down my arm. Oops.

I turn carefully around and put it down in front of the customer. He’s a young man with a blue suit and a horrendously pubic blonde goatee. I smile at him.

‘Four fifty.’

He doesn’t smile back but glances warily at his overfilled tumbler in its creamy puddle.

‘Happy Christmas.’

I smile again to make it all fine, take his fiver, swap it for a coin and he retreats. Walks over to Chris and the woman like this is destiny or something. I knew something was going to happen today. Blonde Beard raises his overfull glass like a toast. I can’t hear what he says but their three faces look at me and laugh. I spray the bar and wipe and focus on seeming like how a normal person would seem after a small spillage in their place of work. Maybe I’m ditzy, or a klutz – something with a z in it. Maybe I’ve got more important things to think about and that’s intriguing and you should fall in love with me. Maybe the Baileys wasn’t an embarrassing mistake but an indication that I’m an interesting character with hidden depths?

If you need to know what the pub is like, it’s called The Slipper. The carpet is navy-ish, to be like a night sky, the chairs and tables are brown wood, the ceiling is painted white and has large bulbs hanging down. It’s a bright place, with no music cos it’s part of a big chain and those are the rules. We’re across the road from the rail station so we hear trains and announcements if it’s not busy. When it is busy all you hear is chat. I’ve worked here for two months and I hate it and thought I was here as a punishment because of my stupid bad life decisions, but then Chris walked in tonight and now I understand this has all been destined. I got a credit card bill this morning as well. The planets are aligning or something.

I hear someone say my real name and turn around but no one’s looking at me.

‘So she seems fine, not all withered or anything. We don’t know exactly how long she’s been there.’

There’s nothing else to clean. I throw the cloth in the bin.

‘The plug was in the bath, though. That should have been a clue.’

I reach down and get the cloth out again. We’re not supposed to throw them away.

‘Her body had absorbed all the water while no one was looking. She would have swollen up but because she’d been in there so long she’d shrunk again cos all the water evaporated. She looked fine when we got there, she didn’t even look dead.’

I sigh but I don’t mind this story, if I’m honest. I used to like the Darwin Awards, when people tripped over and drowned in vats of cabbage or shepherd’s pie. There is something about ridiculousness that cancels out the horror of death and it’s a relief not to be sad or pretend to be sad.

‘So they lifted her up, these two paramedics, one at her feet, one at her head. But because she’s been in water all her skin is stuck, it’s stuck to the bath—’

I laugh like a cute ditz would. Pete radiates pleasure that I’ve reacted while behind him the woman with Chris is looking over. She has such dark skin. She’s done her make-up really well; her lips look smooshed, like fruit hammered in half. I wonder if she does a YouTube tutorial. She must mix a gloss with a rich, heavy colour. I wonder if that colour would work on pale lips on pale skin, then I wonder if gloss ends up on Chris’s dick and then wish I hadn’t thought that.

‘—and the worst thing isn’t all the organs and everything flopping out of her, it’s the smell – cos your intestines rot, you know, all gases and putrefying added to the shit that’s in there, because it’s all in there …’

I decide to laugh again, but this one doesn’t sound very human. I’ve forced it, it’s yelpy, like fox sex, which stops Pete. I’m about to consider what will happen next when it’s happening already. Chris’s woman with the red mouth has come to the bar. She smells very clean, like a candle or a hotel. I think she’s older than me, or maybe she’s just confident.

‘Two G and Ts and half a pint.’

Her voice is loud and Irish and I want to know everything about her.

‘What of?’

‘Not Baileys!’

I love her.

‘We’re gonna have to pour Steve into a cab!’

I love her so much.

‘I’m sorry. I got distracted, I wasn’t concentrating—’

‘Don’t blame you.’

Red Mouth rolls her eyes towards Pete and then away so perfectly, so derisively. I control the impulse in my facial muscles who want to copy, suppress the urge to see if I could do it too.

‘Probably do us some waters as well?’

I set about the drinks, doing my best, conscious brain giving motor-skill orders so I’ll seem capable. Pour plonk pour arrange. Her body is facing towards me like she’s open to chat. Women never do this. I spray water in pint glasses and consider if I could be a lesbian before I get goosepimples and realise it’s a trick. Chris has told her everything and she’s come to humiliate me.

‘Want a tray?’

‘You’ve got such long eyelashes.’

What the heck is she playing at.

Red Mouth sashays away like she’s made a friend and I study her return to the table in case she’s feeding back about me, but Chris and Blonde Beard carry on talking and ignore her. So it’ll look like they weren’t watching us, maybe? Maybe. Difficult to know how to play this. I wipe the bar again and try to ignore how big my body feels. I knew something was going to happen today and this is it – I just don’t know what it is yet.

Pete gestures with a pointed point at his glass that he wants serving and he’s moved on to rum so it’s downhill from here. He asks if I’ve seen Line of Duty then spews his opinion of Line of Duty in my direction.

‘No spoilers, Abi …’

Pete’s holding his hands up like I’m the policeman. His fingers are fat and orangey....