Nicola Barker - Love Your Enemies

As Melissa said this she stared over his shoulder at Steve. She glared. John thought her strange and distracted. She made him feel ill-at-ease, with her bright clothes and short greased-back hair. He appreciated that he was under some obligation to explain his purpose, so he began to say, ‘It’s not so much the jacket I’m interested in as …’

Before he could finish his sentence, however, Melissa said, ‘Hang on a sec,’ and walked away from him over to the till, whereupon she snatched the book Steve was reading from his hand and picked up a pen. She turned to the title page and began to write with great vigour. Then she slammed the book down on the counter and returned to John’s side.

Steve picked up his book looking highly disgruntled and irritated. He turned to the front page where Melissa had written in a large scrawl, THIS GUY IS SOME SORT OF MEDIA SALESMAN. I BET HE SELLS CRAP ON THE PHONE. HE’S GOT THAT SORT OF SMOOTH VOICE. EAT SHIT ARSEHOLE. Steve closed the book and placed it back down again.

On Melissa’s return to his side John continued, ‘It’s not so much the jacket I’m interested in as the material.’

The girl’s eyes were glassy and unfocused. She paused for a second and took a drag on her cigarette. ‘What?’

John began to feel irritated. He said, ‘I want to find out about the material, if that’s not too much trouble.’

Melissa stared over at Steve and said, ‘Steve can help you on this one.’ She turned away and wandered to the back of the shop to fill the kettle in anticipation of her victory.

John was beginning to feel fairly disorientated. Steve stood up and strolled over to him saying, ‘What was it you wanted?’

John was growing tired of repeating himself. He said, ‘I want some of this material to line a coffin with.’

He expected the young man to show some surprise at this request, but instead he didn’t appear to have listened and was now suddenly staring at John with what seemed to amount to a look of recognition. He then said, ‘I don’t mean to be nosy or anything, but don’t you work in a media sales department. You know, selling stuff on the phone?’

John frowned. ‘I said I wanted some of this material to line a coffin. Are you listening to me? What the hell do media sales have to do with anything?’

He was determined to possess some of the material that he held in his hand; it was as soft as tears, softer. Steve had the good sense to look slightly embarrassed. What the man was saying about coffins had just sunk in. He stared at John incredulously for a few seconds and then asked tentatively, ‘May I ascertain from this that you are a coffin-maker?’

John appreciated the fact that this revelation must make him seem rather strange. The girl, Melissa, was staring at him with open-mouthed hostility. He thought, ‘Maybe people don’t like talking about death in high-fashion shops.’

He waited for a second and then said, ‘Well I’m a sort of carpenter. I do things on commission, if you see what I mean. At the moment I happen to be making a coffin, yes.’

Steve began to smile at him. His face was very rosy and genuine when he smiled. He then said — rather inexplicably in John’s opinion — ‘God bless you!’ and looked over at Melissa, ‘Thirsty are we dear?’ He started to laugh and went to sit down again; then picked up his book and ripped out the title page with great showiness. The girl looked very upset. John didn’t know exactly what it was that he’d done to upset her but he presumed that it must be serious. She stalked towards him, took the coat and marched to the till. She said, ‘I know the girl who designs these, I’ll phone her and ask where she got the material from.’ She dialled a number, smiling tremulously over her shoulder at John as she waited for an answer. She held on for a minute or so and then hung up. ‘She isn’t in, I’m afraid.’

John shrugged. He’d had enough. He said, ‘It doesn’t matter,’ and turned to leave. But before he’d reached the door the girl was at his side and had rather inappropriately grabbed hold of his arm. She said, ‘Don’t go. I could try the number again.’

John was slightly shaken. He felt stupid and naïve. He felt disappointed too and oddly tearful. He pulled his arm away and said clumsily, ‘What would you care anyway? Go back and read your stupid magazine.’

The girl seemed to freeze. She stared at him and suddenly her face was very simple and uncomplicated. She said, ‘Have I upset you somehow? I really didn’t mean to. I really do care.’

She said the last few words with especial emphasis. John blinked. His eyes felt ridiculously damp. She stared at him. He said, ‘Your cigarette smoke got into my eyes. I’m allergic, that’s all.’

She said again, ‘I really do care. I’m sure that I could get hold of some of that material for you. I know I could. I promise.’

John shrugged helplessly. He didn’t know what to do. Melissa was looking nervously around her and rubbing her nose in a gesture which seemed to express a mixture of both embarrassment and confusion. Then she said, ‘I know, give me your phone number and when I get through to the designer I can phone you and tell you where she got her supply from.’

John pondered this idea for a moment, and placed his hand against the door frame for support. As he touched the painted wood his hand felt very cold. He could feel the wood but he couldn’t properly feel it. His hand felt as though it had randomly been given a local anaesthetic. Surprisingly, his face and especially his tongue, felt very cold too. He blinked, realizing that these sensations had distracted him from the conversation at hand. Melissa was still staring at him. She looked confused. After a second she said, ‘Are you all right? You don’t look too well all of a sudden.’

John lied with surprising ease. His father had died of diabetes. He said, ‘My blood-sugar levels get slightly low sometimes. This trip into town takes it out of me a bit. I didn’t prepare for it. I’ll get a taxi home, don’t worry.’

His knees felt like cardboard, flimsy and thin. The doctor had said this would happen. It had happened before. He said again for emphasis, ‘I’ll get a taxi,’ and turned. Unfortunately the words didn’t come out this time as quickly as he’d anticipated. He’d turned before the first two syllables had been completed by his spongy and ineffective tongue, and the force of his turn caused him to slam into the door frame. Melissa grabbed hold of his arm and said, ‘Wait, I’ll go and call one for you.’

She dashed out of the shop and ran to the top of the road and on to a busier street, where she tried to hail a cab.

Steve approached John’s gradually collapsing form and, putting his arm around his waist, pulled him down into a sitting position. He sat by him on the step. He said softly, ‘Can you say your address?’ John nodded, humiliated, and started to mumble. Steve got up and went to the till where he grabbed a pen and the first bit of paper that came to hand, then he returned to John’s side and patted his arm as he said, ‘Go on then, slowly.’

Breathing deeply, John gradually formed each word. It took an immense effort. He felt very tired, and his eyes kept blinking.

In a couple of minutes Melissa returned to the shop with a taxi in tow. When she saw John slumped on the step she felt intensely sorry for him. Steve said, ‘Come and help him up at the other side. I don’t know whether we shouldn’t send him to hospital.’

John shook his head violently at this suggestion. He drawled, ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’

Together they lifted him up and eased him into the taxi. John helped as best he could although he felt very drowsy and ineffectual. Melissa said, ‘Maybe I should go home with him, Steve?’