Steven Camden - It’s About Love

“What did Zia say?” I ask.

Tommy flicks his cigarette out the window. “To wait out back and he’d dip out. What time is it?”

I look at my phone. “Half four. You should get one of them air fresheners, man, them little trees.”

“What you saying? You saying my car stinks?”

“Like an ashtray.”

“You wanna walk?”

My phone beeps. It’s a text from Dad.

How wis fist wk big man? Dodx

I picture him lying on his back under some battered old car, taking ten minutes to type the message, his thick thumb hitting four buttons at once.

Good thanks. See you tomorrow

Tommy tuts. “Where is he, man?”

I look up at the concrete building. “He’s probably being watched. What did he say the manager guy’s name was again?”

“Dunno. I’m starving though.”

Then the fire door pops open and Zia pokes his head out, like a meerkat sentry. He looks both ways, then nods at us. He’s shaved his beard back to rough stubble and he’s wearing a hair net. Tommy laughs. “He looks like my mum after a shower.”

“Yeah, ’cept your mum’s beard’s thicker.”

He tries to dig my thigh, but I grab his fist and squeeze.

“All right, all right, get off, Luke!”

I hold him a second longer, then let him go and open my door.

“Yes, boys!” whispers Zia. The whites of his eyes sparkle next to his skin. Fists bump, then he says, “Wait here,” and he’s gone. The fire door clicks closed and me and Tommy are standing with our backs against the wall.

Tommy points up at the security camera facing the car park. I nod. The door opens again and Zia hands me a small, torn cardboard box. I can see Babybels, a ripped pack of Jammy Dodgers and a can of Relentless. I look at Zia.

“What’s this?”

Zia frowns. “Dinner.”

Tommy looks into the box. “Dinner for who? A crack head?”

“If you don’t want it, don’t eat it, man. I have to be careful what I take, don’t I? We have to put the damaged stock out the back and if I tear expensive stuff, Pete the Prick flips out.”

Tommy takes out a Babybel. “Couldn’t you just get some crisps or something?”

Zia pulls the box back out of my hands. “Look, if you wanna give orders, go Chicken Cottage, yeah? I’m not a waiter. You want this or not?”

I put my hands on the box. “Course we do. Thanks, man. What time you finish?”

Zia lets go of the box and sighs. “Ten. We gotta stack up the shelves for the staff working tomorrow.” He scratches his velcro stubble. Tommy pulls open a Babybel and the three of us just stand there. One supermarket employee, one builder’s apprentice and me. A year ago we’d all be in school uniform.

Zia clicks his fingers. “Yo, check this out. I thought up a new bit. Upgrades, yeah? Like with phones, but for your friends and family.”

Tommy looks at me and rolls his eyes. Zia carries on. “So I’d be like, OK, I’ve got the standard Tommy friend, yeah? But I wanna upgrade, cos the new one has got better features and that, like he never asks to borrow money, and he doesn’t say dumb stuff and get us into trouble.”

Tommy pushes Zia. “Shut up, man. Why am I the one who gets upgraded? You say dumb stuff all the time.”

I smile. “That’s not bad, man. You think that up today?”

Zia nods. “Nothing else to do while I’m stacking sugar.”

“Yeah, well I’ve heard it somewhere before,” says Tommy.

Zia frowns. “Shut up, that’s mine. It needs work, but it could be good.”

Tommy smiles through a mouthful of cheese. “So you gonna sort out an actual gig then?”

Zia stares at him. “Maybe I will.” Something clatters from inside. Zia looks back over his shoulder. “I gotta go. Come get me later, yeah?”

We nod. Fists bump.

Me and Tommy start towards the car, but stop when Zia calls out, “Lukey!” We turn back. “One more week, eh?”

Tommy looks down. I give an awkward shrug. Zia does his good Samaritan smile. “Ring me if you wanna talk, yeah?”

Then he slides inside and the door shuts, leaving me and Tommy standing there, silent. I stare at the ground.

“You all right, Lukey?”

“I’m fine.” I start walking.

As we get to the car, Tommy points at the box. “Yo, the Relentless is mine.”

I look at him as I open my door. “Course it is.”

He opens his. “What you saying then? FIFA at mine?”

I nod. He smiles. “Friend upgrades, that is pretty funny.”

I stare up at the supermarket building, at the security camera, and picture a dark room with a wall of black-and-white screens. I zoom in on one and see me, standing next to the car, staring up into the lens.

One more week. Is he thinking about me?

Mum said: Life’s a record on loop; we just have to learn to love the song.

It’s after midnight when Tommy drops me off.

Mum works nights at the weekend and she turns the heating off when she leaves, so the house feels like an empty cave. I kick off my shoes and climb the stairs.

The landing light has no shade so the bulb shines a circle across the ceiling and walls. Standing outside my room the landing stretches away to my left, towards his door. I feel it pulling me. Like I always do. Like part of him is always here. So I walk towards it.

The gloss painted wood, something pulsing behind. The cheap silver handle. The dark jagged letters carved into the white:

MARC’S ROOM

I remember sitting in my pyjamas on the landing right here, my hair still damp from the bath, listening to him play the first Eminem album. Knowing the words were bad, but not really understanding and feeling like I wanted in on the secret.

I picture inside now. The perfectly made bed with his barbell underneath. The football posters. The black veneered shelves full of trophies, nearly two years untouched. Two years of waiting, weighing everything down, pressing things into their place. My hand moves up to my face. Not long now.

I push my bedroom door closed behind me, take Leon from my DVD shelves. I switch off my light, open my laptop on my bedside table to face my pillow, slide in the disc and lie down on top of my covers. The Columbia Pictures logo comes up, the lady holding the torch as the trumpets play, and I feel the tingle in my blood. My heads sinks into my pillow as the camera flies over the water, then trees, and the strings start to play and the names of actors appear and everything’s all right. I get to go somewhere else.

Morning sunlight splits my ceiling in half. I stare at the crack in the ceiling plaster that cuts from the corner in towards the lampshade like a thin black root and I feel my face.

I reach down into my bag, pull out my notepad, grab a pen from my bedside table and …

A waterfall of rain.

Leia’s staring from behind it. Her hair’s out in a big afro like from some old 1970s cop show. She’s wearing the big black coat, but the front is undone and there’s a clear V of naked skin. It’s like inside a tent or a cloud or something, everything washed in white. Leia licks her lips and raises her hand to point straight at me with two fingers. The water hits her hand and her face goes out of focus. Then there’s fire, behind her and on both sides, tall flames that don’t touch her but feel like they’re all around. Her face becomes clear again and she’s wearing an eye patch and the water is gone. Her head tilts. She smiles, then her mouth mimes a gun shot and she’s stepping forward, fingers still pointing, as she moves closer and her coat is falling open. Flames dancing. Closer, and her skin, and closer, and the fire behind her, and more skin, and closer and closer and

I lower my pen and stare at the ceiling. What the hell’s all that about? You think she dreamt about you?