She’s like a head-teacher in a Roald Dahl novel.
They stop on the spot. Max tightens all the muscles in his body to prepare himself for the worst.
“I’ll expect you to be doing a little extra through your lunch break. Shall we say half an hour?”
Their expressions change to ones of resignation. They walk over to the staff door. Amelie stands at the back holding up two cards with a zero written on them. Unlike the men, Amelie hasn’t spent last night on the tiles. Her skin looks fresh underneath the spikes of her sharp, black hair. Max and Chris have both had a crack at her with no joy, which wasn’t surprising given that she’s only interested in dating women. She puts the cards down and comes over to let them in with her key, laughing as she opens the door. They say a subdued thank you as they go past.
“Shall we say half an hour boys?” Chris says. It’s a pretty good impression really, the way he sucks in his cheeks gets all northern. “And shall we say stick your bloody job?”
“Stick the kettle on,” Max tells him. “Jesus. If I don’t get some coffee inside me I’m going to fall apart.”
“Desiccated?”
“You know I’ve never been desiccated to anything in my entire life.”
Chris puts on the kettle while Max uses a grotty towel that was once yellow to dry his hair.
“Chuck that over,” Chris says, and Max throws it hard and straight into Chris’s face.
“We should’ve called in sick,” Max says.
“Yeah, but the old dragon knows we were on the lash.”
“Stuff the old dragon. I’m going to give up and teach piano for a living.”
“I hope I never hear you play that bloody thing again. What was that last night? Beethoven? Schubert?”
“I don’t know who wrote it.”
“Mmm? Scale of C major, now let me think.”
“Okay, I get the point.”
“It could be a big hit.” Chris gets on with making the coffee. “How about Chopsticks on the B side?”
“All right, I’ll sell a few more books and then I’ll quit.”
They sit down at the table to drink their brew. Chris pokes around in a bag on the table and pulls out a magazine. Ella. He looks at it, wrinkles his nose and throws it contemptuously back. “ I thought it might have a hangover cure.”
“Ten ways to lose your love handles might come in useful one day. Texts that dumped the world. How to choose a sweetheart. Garbage.”
Chris rubs his temples. “That’s the last time I’m going to sleep with that piano.”
“What?”
“I want your bed when I stay over.”
There’s no way Max will let that happen.
“Then the piano will have to go,” Chris says.
“It can stay. I’ll take the chessboard again.”
“It’s becoming a habit. You should be careful there. Look at the state of you.”
“I don’t think it was the chess. My money’s on your dad’s poteen.”
“We should have known when we realised it was flammable.”
“Maybe we could be lighter fuel salesmen. All we need is the recipe and a patent.”
“And maybe a good lawyer to get us out of gaol for distilling the stuff.”
Max hears a key in the door and the boys jump to their feet.
The Trunchball doesn’t come in, but throws her voice into the room. “Boys, we’re getting busy out here. Do you think you might give us a hand?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer and lets the door close.
“Upstairs or down?” Chris asks.
“I couldn’t give a monkey’s.”
“You can take downstairs then.” Which is fair enough. “I couldn’t face the smell of Sci-Fi Man today.”
They leave to the shop floor. Max goes to the front till. As he gets there the boss leaves. He sits and puts his head in his hands. It’s going to be the day from hell. His body feels like it’s been sucked dry, as if he’s just had a colonic irrigation that went a bit too far. What he needs is plenty of caffeine, copious smokes, a soft duvet and a couple of great movies on the TV. He manages to lift his head just long enough to type in
They stop on the spot. Max tightens all the muscles in his body to prepare himself for the worst.
“I’ll expect you to be doing a little extra through your lunch break. Shall we say half an hour?”
Their expressions change to ones of resignation. They walk over to the staff door. Amelie stands at the back holding up two cards with a zero written on them. Unlike the men, Amelie hasn’t spent last night on the tiles. Her skin looks fresh underneath the spikes of her sharp, black hair. Max and Chris have both had a crack at her with no joy, which wasn’t surprising given that she’s only interested in dating women. She puts the cards down and comes over to let them in with her key, laughing as she opens the door. They say a subdued thank you as they go past.
“Shall we say half an hour boys?” Chris says. It’s a pretty good impression really, the way he sucks in his cheeks gets all northern. “And shall we say stick your bloody job?”
“Stick the kettle on,” Max tells him. “Jesus. If I don’t get some coffee inside me I’m going to fall apart.”
“Desiccated?”
“You know I’ve never been desiccated to anything in my entire life.”
Chris puts on the kettle while Max uses a grotty towel that was once yellow to dry his hair.
“Chuck that over,” Chris says, and Max throws it hard and straight into Chris’s face.
“We should’ve called in sick,” Max says.
“Yeah, but the old dragon knows we were on the lash.”
“Stuff the old dragon. I’m going to give up and teach piano for a living.”
“I hope I never hear you play that bloody thing again. What was that last night? Beethoven? Schubert?”
“I don’t know who wrote it.”
“Mmm? Scale of C major, now let me think.”
“Okay, I get the point.”
“It could be a big hit.” Chris gets on with making the coffee. “How about Chopsticks on the B side?”
“All right, I’ll sell a few more books and then I’ll quit.”
They sit down at the table to drink their brew. Chris pokes around in a bag on the table and pulls out a magazine. Ella. He looks at it, wrinkles his nose and throws it contemptuously back. “ I thought it might have a hangover cure.”
“Ten ways to lose your love handles might come in useful one day. Texts that dumped the world. How to choose a sweetheart. Garbage.”
Chris rubs his temples. “That’s the last time I’m going to sleep with that piano.”
“What?”
“I want your bed when I stay over.”
There’s no way Max will let that happen.
“Then the piano will have to go,” Chris says.
“It can stay. I’ll take the chessboard again.”
“It’s becoming a habit. You should be careful there. Look at the state of you.”
“I don’t think it was the chess. My money’s on your dad’s poteen.”
“We should have known when we realised it was flammable.”
“Maybe we could be lighter fuel salesmen. All we need is the recipe and a patent.”
“And maybe a good lawyer to get us out of gaol for distilling the stuff.”
Max hears a key in the door and the boys jump to their feet.
The Trunchball doesn’t come in, but throws her voice into the room. “Boys, we’re getting busy out here. Do you think you might give us a hand?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer and lets the door close.
“Upstairs or down?” Chris asks.
“I couldn’t give a monkey’s.”
“You can take downstairs then.” Which is fair enough. “I couldn’t face the smell of Sci-Fi Man today.”
They leave to the shop floor. Max goes to the front till. As he gets there the boss leaves. He sits and puts his head in his hands. It’s going to be the day from hell. His body feels like it’s been sucked dry, as if he’s just had a colonic irrigation that went a bit too far. What he needs is plenty of caffeine, copious smokes, a soft duvet and a couple of great movies on the TV. He manages to lift his head just long enough to type in
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