Ханиф Курейши - Best British Short Stories 2020

Cherri came out of the cafe, carrying a can of Fanta. I’m going to the beach, she said. She dropped the change on the table. We watched her cross the empty road and disappear down the steps. No one came to that stretch of the beach: it was too far from the pier, and most people in Wakesea were old or had mobility problems. We could see Cherri walking near the groynes, stopping to look across at us, small as we were. She’ll be fine, he said. We used to come to this beach a lot when she was little, with her mum. He looked up at the sky, as if she were hovering above us.

I know you’re disgusted, he said, after a few seconds of respectful silence. You hate me, don’t you? I don’t hate you, I began. You should hate me, he said. Are you going to stay? He asked, after I didn’t reply. As in, are you going to stay after the school ends? I thought of Barbara, of all the coastal towns ahead, of an audience waiting in a darkened room. Without wanting to, I caught his eyes brightening, even though he didn’t know what I was undecided about.

Tinny, familiar music rose from the beach. It was the finale song: never stop being young/fun fun fun! In its pauses, we heard a phlegmy cough turning into laughter. We both looked towards the sea, the sand. There was no one there, no sign of Cherri. John got up, brushed down his ill-fitting suit. I followed him across the road, stopped with him at the ramp that led to the beach. Below, there was no sign of recent occupation, apart from a jagged red bucket that was half-buried in pebbles. Cherri, he shouted over the music. The ramp was covered in a lurid green slime. He turned to look for another way down. The laughter broke out again. We both leant over the iron railing. In a recess only visible when we craned forward was a balding man sitting on a crate. Lined neatly next to him was a portable radio, a thin blue carrier bag and a pair of old brown shoes. He was rocking back and forth with laughter. If his hands hadn’t been wrapped around his knees, he would have fallen headfirst into the sand. In front of him was a small pink cowboy hat I recognised from the school’s prop box. Cherri came out from the recess, wearing her finale costume, her other dress sticking out from underneath it, so she looked twice her normal size.

The man began to clap. She started dancing, hesitating between each step. John reached over the railings, yelled her name. The music was too loud. He stuck a foot onto the mossy ramp. He would have to go further down to the other set of steps in order to get Cherri, or risk sliding down the slope and injuring himself. He would have to leave her there with the man, just for a minute or two. He couldn’t decide. I shouted her name. She went on dancing, grimacing and mouthing numbers to herself. It was the first time I had seen her whole solo, its steps in sequence. She moved without pause. She twirled, both of her dresses flying up and exposing her red thighs.

She stopped and punched her gloved arms in the air, one after the other. Jumping back, she stumbled and recovered with a big smile. She was sure of herself. I had never known her to be so confident, so composed. The old man threw some coins into the hat; they glinted in the sun. Cherri, what are you doing? John shouted as the finale song segued into a tune I hadn’t heard before. Cherri looked around and up. The old man walked past her quickly, carrier bag dangling from his wrist, shoes held to his chest. She saw her father, waved. He didn’t wave back, just stood there, his hand on his chest, breathing heavily. Her gaze went from him to me, and back again. She ran to the hat, picked it up carefully, stared back up at us. Look! she shouted. Can you see me? I’m here! I’m here!

‘My theory is that most people are energy thieves and will gravitate towards those persons who have the most energy. So if we take the example of a large number of people being in a room for a party or a get-together or a conference or whatever, and of their gravitating towards someone, as far as anyone does gravitate anywhere, then they will always gravitate to the most energetic person there, because that person will make them feel good, or will make them laugh, or will give out something that will make them feel fortunate to be there. It’s a matter of physical and mental energy. Same difference.’

‘Yes.’

‘For as long as there is an excess of energy and plenty to go around, there is a good chance that you will get some for yourself. An anecdote, an opinion you can use, a joke perhaps, or some information, a story, a lead, a job, a reference, an amusing insight… and thereby a feeling of renewal or liveliness or pleasure. Just something, anyway, that will make you feel better than you did before.’

‘Yes.’

‘I mean, no one drifts towards the worried-looking guy with a headache in the corner of the room who wishes he wasn’t there. That is because it is physical and mental energy that we seek.’

‘Yes.’

‘And just as unluckiness and unhappiness in others can be seen as infections to be avoided by sensible and self-centred people, similarly laziness and tiredness in others can make us feel as though they might be catching, too, so we want to get away from people exhibiting them. Quickly, in fact, since we can all be prey to such feelings.’

‘Yes.’

‘But the reverse, that is, to be full of energy and ambition, is inspiring for others. It is difficult to have great ideas and transmit them while suffering from idleness and fatigue, but it is easy and possible when one is full of sparkle and zest. And so we look out for the lively ones.’

‘Yes.’

‘With energy you get to express yourself and win over others who will love you both for your ideas and for the enthusiasm with which you transmit them.’

‘Yes.’

‘Therefore to be more attractive, have more physical energy.’

‘Yes.’

‘People often say that when their doctor gives them a diagnosis for a disease that will cause their death they suddenly feel much calmer. They have been told they have six months to live or something similar and it is only then that they can relax and enjoy life. You must have heard of that?’

‘I have. It happens frequently to those sort of people to whom it happens.’

‘And then they report some greater wisdom that comes from knowing that they are going to die. That is: knowing what is finally and truly important, enjoying the good things in life, and laughing off the bad things.’

‘Yes, they do indeed say those things that they say.’

‘But I have a theory that turns that on its head.’

‘Ah.’

‘Which is that they don’t appreciate those things that they say they do – families and sunsets and such like. At least, not exactly in the manner purported.’

‘Oh.’

‘But simply that they have no worries, which liberates them to enjoy everything all the time. No worries, except one. Only the big one. Having only one worry in the whole world reduces and ultimately annuls all the other worries which they might have. Indeed all the other worries seem no longer to count as worries at all, so great is the main worry. And so the death-marked person realises of a sudden, “Oh, I am not worried any more, how odd. Apart from that, of course.”’

‘So it is the number of worries, rather than the severity of them, that comprises the debilitating strain of worry?’

‘Indeed. The more the worse and the fewer the better, regardless of size. By surrendering the sum total of all worries to one giant worry, one finds that the rest of life is worry-free. Hence the enjoyment of sunsets and love of family life.’