Deborah Levy - Billy and Girl

Aaaaaaaaaaar. It’s a soft sound. Aaaaaaar. The breath trickles out of her lips. Pain inside Girl. Crackling inside her Girl form. The shoes. The little pink shoes. They come in pairs. Girl has one shoe and Mom has the other.

Twelve giant economy bags of lo-calorie crisps. Girl looks up from bleep. The customer is a woman, that’s the important thing. Fat white arms. Lo Calorie. Kwik Bake. Rol and Bake. Every single woman in FreezerWorld could be Mom. Girl wants to interview every one of them. She presses the Open button and the till drawer slides out effortlessly. It’s crammed with cash. Girl handles it like she owns it, counting the notes possessively. A bit resentful about giving change. Like she’s giving away something that is hers. Keeping an eye on Billy who has just appeared out of nowhere and whisked the NEXT CUSTOMER PLEASE ruler onto the sliding belt. Girl sneaks a look at the mountain of goods heaped in his trolley. A senior FreezerWorld citizen stares at him in dismay. She could be Mom. Kind but firm. She shakes her head at him and says something about Till Five. Billy looks puzzled and hurt. She points to one of the other tills. Mimes him wheeling his trolley over there, far far away from Express. ‘Express is baskets only,’ she explains slowly, dragging out the o-n-l-y. He gasps like she’s explained the meaning of his presence in a universe where everything is energy and nothing is certain. Baskets only. Thank you so damn much for that information. It’s changed Brother Billy’s life. Like when he’s cycling at night and he hasn’t got lights and he’s wearing black everything, and a kind motorist takes time off to point out that he, Billy, has not got lights. If only he had known. Thank you for that insight. He’ll walk his bike the twelve miles home now and ruminate on the information; so dense and perplexing is it, he won’t even notice the blisters on his feet, the muggers, the drunks, the runaway kids in their sleeping bags, the night rats chewing winglets and suet and Valium, the kerb-crawler blokes with their lack of hair and toilet-chain bracelets, or even the rain so cosy with its pitter-patter. So much to think about and so much time to think it in. Billy plunges his arms deep into his trolley. Yep, here it is. A giant-sized Frozen Family pizza: JUST LIKE MAMA USED TO MAKE. He flings it onto the sliding belt and walks his trolley to the other side of the store.

Girl glances at her watch. Give him thirty seconds.

Bleep. Bleeeep. Bleeep. Music to Girl’s ears. Where is FreezerWorld Louise? She’s due back any minute.

Three uniformed FreezerWorld staff (little black bow ties) are running through the gleaming aisles. They are like paramedics, moving in unison, running and talking at the same time, revving up to crash through the emergency swing doors of superstore surgery. Bruising past soporific shoppers wheeling their trolleys in a trolley ballet, reaching for bread and biscuits and cereals and teabags. Someone shouts ‘He’s bleeding, call Mr Tens!’

Bleep.

Girl thinks, Billy is okay. But not that okay. The till is working like a dream. A crowd of customers are gathering near the Toiletries section. Billy’s weedy voice gabbles something about the razor blades not being properly wrapped. Girl turns to the queue by her till. ‘Move to Till Five, please,’ she insists in a Don’t Fuck with Me voice. Customers look at her in numb disbelief. It is as if she has just told them a relative has died. Girl fixes them with her most malevolent stare.

‘This till is out of order.’

No one moves. Girl points vaguely to Till Five.

‘Over there . This one is not working.’ Jeezus. If she had a gun she’d mow them down. Haven’t they got homes to go back to? Children and lovers and pets waiting for them? Appointments to keep? Customers. Dazed and confused. Jeeeeezus. Get on with it. Get a life. But this is the Life. FreezerWorld life. Is there life after FreezerWorld life?

At last. At last the queue begins to disperse, but not without mutterings and complaints about how they deliberately chose a basket and not a trolley even though a trolley was easier for them and how they would have shopped differently if they had known they were going to have to queue in the trolley section. Some of them, Girl is informed, might as well shop all over again because if they are going to have to queue with trolleys they might as well do a week’s shop instead of just a weekend shop. What’s the point of just popping into FreezerWorld to get one item on special offer if they have to wait behind those customers doing a family shop, an extended family shop by the look of that trolley over there, and anyway, just take a look at where Till Five is — right over the other side of the store. Management should provide a courtesy shuttle.

Girl is pressing the Open button and the till is stuck. It won’t budge. And it’s making a strange bleeping noise, a new kind of bleep with a different tone. A red light is flashing. Not only that but some grotty customer with ginger eyes, God, how do you get to have ginger eyes, is asking if Girl knows which aisle does green washing-up liquid? Girl, preoccupied but still playing sweet, says, ‘They’re all green,’ but the customer has turned into a citizen and he’s muttering on about ecological washing-up liquid. Girl sends him to the diabetic jam section. One last punch of the fucking Open button. Nothing happening. She’s going to have to do a runner, empty-handed. She might as well kill herself there and then. What the hell did Billy do to ooze out all that damn blood? Cut himself with the lickle knife he saves for cinema seats or what?

How does she kill this new damn bleep siren? Press everything. Press every button in every combination. More staff are running over to where Billy is. Someone has turned the Muzak up. Is Billy alive? Did he slit his throat? A young black man saunters over to the Toiletries aisle carrying a bucket and mop. Jeezus. Hope he doesn’t get Billy blood on his trainers. That would really be a lousy way to end the day. Yes Yes Yes Yes. The till is open. Girl takes a FreezerWorld carrier bag and begins to pack wads of notes into it, fast but calm, looking around but no one’s looking at her. The basket people haven’t even reached Till Five yet.

Till Five is Terminal South compared to Terminal North. It’s colder in that part of the store. They speak another language there, Trolleyspeak. It’ll take a bit of time adapting to the new culture. Never mind, Basket People. Learn the ways of the Trolley People. Join in their feast days. Get used to their humour. Enjoy their music. Understand their superstitions. Watch out for diarrhoea and dysentery. Comply with Trolley bureaucracy, red tape and visas. Become familiar with tipping procedures, toilets, time zones, opening hours and water. Finally, Basket People, avoid blood transfusions unless absolutely necessary and always wear a condom.

Saturday Girl is working fast. Go for the fifty-pound notes first, then the twenties, forget the fives, might have time for the tens.

The PA makes an announcement: ‘Mr Tens. Mr Tens, please come to Till Five. Mr Tens. Mr Tens, please come to Till Five.’ Might have time for the tens. A nice wad of fifties. Thicker than Girl’s thighs. ‘Mr Tens, Mr Tens, please come to Till Five.’ Billy’s voice is drowning under the PA. He’s shouting about how he’s going to sue the store for damaging his hand and he wants to see the manager. He wants to see Mr Tens. Mr Tens is the most wanted man in FreezerWorld. Everyone wants Mr Tens except Girl. She wants the tenners, small potatoes but she wants them after all and she is just about ready to go. Mr Tens is making his way through Aisle Three. Mr Tens.

FreezerWorld superstar. So much gas in Mr Tens, he’s got a bigger bow tie than the rest of the male staff and he’ got a different pace. Girl presses the Close button. It slides like a perfect cremation.