Then Mr Hackle came back down, but this time with the horrible Joe. They were kissing each other as well! And Benny came down too, but they didn’t see him, and he saw them kissing. So many kisses, it was like a kissing-go-round!
None of them saw me because I was very clever. I followed Benny out and I’m pretty sure he was crying. Stupid, being an adult. I have decided never to become one, not ever. This I swear.
Thursday. Today is Eddie’s funeral. They had better bloody well let me go!
Play to win
Thursday found Hackle and Jimmy Love visiting Susan Prentice. There were three to choose from; a waitress, a lawyer or a junior- school teacher. The first was easy; a pair of MegaBreakfast Whoomphies ordered from a bedraggled woman with ‘Susan P: Here to Deliver!’ on her badge and skin as greasy as the slop she served them.
The second was more difficult; they had to make an appointment to see her. Apparently, she had a ‘window’ free that morning, of approximately nine minutes. ‘Sounds promising,’ reckoned Jimmy. ‘She always was a stickler for precision.’ Hackle wasn’t so sure, but when sat down in front of this impressive woman, concocting some cover story, he was tempted to distraction. There was a resemblance. They were trying to remember a woman neither of them had seen for eighteen years, and time can play evil tricks, witness Jimmy’s hair and Max’s suits. It was Jimmy that settled it, by asking Ms Prentice if the numbers five and zero meant anything to her?
Blank. Not a flicker.
The last was difficult because the headmaster of the school in question absolutely refused them permission to enter the premises. Too many weirdos, he explained, for too few children. Of course not, no way could he give out home telephone numbers, but yes, there was no law against ringing the staffroom during the lunch hour, if she was there. And could he have their names please, just for security purposes…
‘Jesus Bone!’ cried Jimmy, when Hackle got off the mobile. ‘It was never like this in our day. Fucking Fort Knox, isn’t it? And you gave our names.’
‘Shouldn’t I have?’
‘He’s gonna tell her who we are, maybe she won’t want to see us.’
Hackle shrugged; he was getting used to Jimmy’s rough-and-ready soul and his language slurred out of a bottle of something. The drunkard even suggested they wait in the car, outside the school gates till lunchtime, just in case she made a run for it. Hackle, of course, thought this preposterous, and that they couldn’t afford to be arrested for perversity at this stage in the game.
The school was in Droylsden, the same one they had gone to as kids, where the story begins. Does it start to end here? Is this the strange recursive loop, eating its own tail? Or else another blank score, another chance happening in the chain of playing? Just waiting there, opposite, in the Maverick Cafe, was the hardest time.
Jimmy laughed at the rogue chances. ‘At least we get to eat something halfway decent, eh Max?’ Hackle, however, was deeply affected by the sight of the old school. He had not wanted to come here, he had wanted to send Joe instead, but Jimmy had persuaded him that she’d need to see familiar faces. Both of them were secretly glad they’d been refused entry; that would’ve been torture.
‘What if it’s not her, Max?’ asked Jimmy, with a mouthful. ‘What then?’
‘What if it is,’ answered Hackle, taking little nibbles.
‘Yeah. What then?’ Jimmy leered at Max.
‘It’s Malthorpe we’re after, remember,’ Max responded. ‘We just want some answers. You’re not to push it, OK?’
‘Max? Push what? What’s to push?’
‘I know what happened between you two.’
‘You did? I mean, did you?’
‘Even Malthorpe knew.’
‘He didn’t mind?’
‘He was out of it by then.’
‘Yeah, sailing his own dream. Nasty piece of shit, don’t know why you put up with him.’
‘Well, he was…’
‘Don’t tell me, the double-six.’
‘I don’t want anything personal going on, that’s all.’
‘As if.’
‘Here they come…’
Here they came, the kids, running from the doors to play and skip and jump and make fun and beat each other up and flirt and twist away like spinning tops, chasing after blurbflies.
‘Wow! Max… that was us, remember?’
‘Was it?’
Hackle was ringing the school’s number, asking for the staffroom. The conversation lasted ten seconds.
‘She’s coming over?’ asked Jimmy.
‘She’s coming.’
Five minutes later a woman entered the cafe. She had a blurb on her shoulder, quite tame and inert. The woman nodded to the waiter, asked if it was OK to bring it in. The waiter said, ‘No problem, Susie.’