Jane Asher - Losing It

‘Stacey, you don’t have to call me over for that, you know you don’t. Check it with Mrs Peters.’

‘Yes, but I never had my lunch break Tuesday and Mrs Peters said I should ask you about taking extra time today to make up.’

‘All right, Stacey. If Mrs Peters said so then that’s fine – go for lunch when you’ve finished this customer and I’ll send Janet over. Now get on with your work, this gentleman’s having to wait. You’ve got to get your speeds up, Stacey – I’ve told you this before.’

It’s funny but I don’t mind when he tells me off. I just mind when he don’t talk to me. Or when he talks to Sheila. I can’t stand that.

‘So, Stacey,’ the old guy says to me, ‘you’ve got your lunch break then. That’s good. Your manager – Mr Chipstead, isn’t it? – seems like a nice sort of chap.’

‘You said that last week.’

‘Did I?’

He looked pleased when he said that. I wondered for a moment if he was gay, but I don’t reckon he’s the type. Just happy that someone’s remembered something he’s said, if you ask me.

‘He’s all right.’

There was a bit of a pause while I checked the vegetable on the belt. Funny-looking thing it was, and I couldn’t find it in the idents for a bit. While I was looking he was watching me again, but I never let on I knew.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ he said.

‘Well, you can tell me what it is.’

‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant – well, is there anything I can do for you – sort of – generally. You just looked a bit upset. When Mr Chipstead was here.’

‘Sweet potato,’ I said. ‘Found it.’

What a weird guy. One of those that fancies big women, as they call it. Really creepy. I wondered if I could call Mr C back to get rid of him, but there wasn’t really nothing I could put in words, just a feeling that he wasn’t coming to my till every time by chance. I was coming to dread it, really, when I saw him approaching with his little basket with four or five things in it. Why don’t he do a big weekly shop in a trolley? It wasn’t like he was short of the cash or nothing, you could tell that just by looking at him.

‘No, I meant – is there anything I can do to help, Stacey? I mean, if Mr Chipstead is worrying you about your speed. Perhaps I’ve been a bit slow in unpacking my basket or something. I always find you very efficient – would you like me to put in a word?’

I felt like telling him to mind his own fucking business, but I knew he was just the sort to complain about things and get me into trouble so I kept quiet. I finished off his basket and waited for him to pay.

‘Here you are, Stacey,’ he said. ‘Sorry to interfere – I was only trying to help, you know.’

I took a quick look up at him as he give me the money and I have to say I felt a bit mean then for not answering and all that. He was watching me with ever such a worried expression, and it didn’t seem so creepy after all – more like my mum looks when she knows I’m hurting and stuff. Maybe he really was just a friendly old guy who was a bit lonely.

‘S’all right,’ I said, and I smiled at him. Not so’s I was encouraging him or nothing – I wasn’t gonna thank him ’cos I never asked for his help, did I? – but the least he deserved was to be let off the hook. In any case, I thought I’d better keep on the right side of him – I didn’t want him going home and plotting something nasty. You never know with customers – they can be a dodgy lot if you ain’t careful.

Sometimes I can see life in the simplest possible terms, and I feel as if I’ve discovered the answer to everything, and then at other times I’m completely at sea and out of control. It’s scary, and I’m not sure which is true. It started with all the stuff we had at school about the uncertainty principle – at first I didn’t bother to take it in much, just wrote it all down so I could learn it for the exams, but when I really started thinking about it I could see that it made life impossible. If nothing really exists – or at least not in a decided form, kind of thing – until you observe it, then surely nothing exists at all? Or at least it’s as good as if it didn’t. And if things change just through you looking at them, then nothing I see, hear or feel has any reality, because it’s reacting to me observing it. So what I see is unreal, and what I don’t see doesn’t exist. It makes me feel quite frightened at times, and it’s not easy for me to talk to anyone about it, because when I’m in the really bad moods then I have to be by myself so that I don’t change anything by communicating with it.

Even on a mundane level it affects the way I look at things. It’s like Mum and Dad getting so brittle with each other: I’m never sure how much of that is due to my watching them. Were they easier with each other when Sally and I were little, or was it just that I wasn’t consciously judging them then? A while ago I’d have talked to Mum about feeling so strange, but she always seems so busy with her work now, and when she isn’t she’s either lying down in her bedroom or rushing about the house being tense. Or she gets into those weird moods when she’s really hyper. Does things like hovering about downstairs for the post in the mornings as if she’s waiting for something. She always says it’s just a magazine or a catalogue she’s expecting, but she goes all girly and happy for a bit and buys us things and gives us treats. Sally and I used to wonder if she was having an affair, but it doesn’t seem like that, somehow. Anyway, I can’t see it.

Trouble is, thinking about what objectively exists makes me want to stop working, because in a way everything I’m doing is a waste of time. When I’m sitting there at school it all feels really pointless because I’m observing it and changing it. And all the books and theories and mathematical formulae and religions and portents are worthless. I’m not sure if it makes me want to commit suicide or live for ever. Who was it said there was only one real philosophical question – whether to kill yourself or not?

It’s not that I’m always gloomy – more confused. Sometimes it’s like I’ve discovered the key to everything and it feels really good, because if nothing has any true reality then nothing matters, so there’s no need to get upset about anything or to hurt about the way things are. But I still don’t know what I’m going to do about these thoughts. I feel rather like I’ve been given a very important message to deliver but they’ve forgotten to address the envelope.

I started to talk to Holly about it today in the dining hall, but I didn’t get very far. I thought it might help if I could explain it to someone else and get it out of my head for a bit, but I could see she didn’t understand how important all this was. She was looking really cute, with her hair up in one of those grippy things – and she kept smiling back at me as I tried to explain.

‘When you measure something,’ I said, having decided I should start from basics – Holly’s doing languages for her A-levels, and science has never been one of her strong points – ‘you’re never sure if your answer is right. Never. That’s why it’s called the uncertainty principle.’

‘Well, obviously you can never predict things,’ she said, dipping her head to look down at her hot chocolate. She tipped a sachet of sugar into the plastic cup and stirred it. ‘It doesn’t take a scientist to tell me that.’

‘No, it’s not exactly that,’ I went on. ‘It’s more that – oh, Holly, for God’s sake, that stuffs already sweetened: it’ll be disgusting – no, it’s not so much that we don’t know how atoms and particles and things are going to behave when we look at them, it’s more that we don’t even know the rules. I mean, even if we could measure things without affecting them, we’re probably judging them by all the wrong rules. Common sense doesn’t really work any more, at least not once you try to look at both quantum and macroscopic physics at once. They just don’t gel, you see. And it makes my life – all of our lives – pointless.’