Mike checked his watch. In a couple of hours, he needed to be back up at the airport to collect Vicky. His heart was racing furiously. What if there was something crucial, right here, beyond some reinforced plastic box? The hall wasn’t too packed right then – everyone looked busy and distracted. Most were either throwing their hyper kids into the free soft play, or taking them for a cheap hotdog and ice cream in the food area. Though what about whoever was going to collect the contents? What if he was caught? Then again, maybe nothing important was inside at all.
He was kidding no one – he was going to get into that locker no matter what.
Determined, Mike stepped out from the wall and swivelled around, striding up to the boxes. As he did so, he discreetly pulled out his penknife from his trouser pocket. He tried looking casual as he raised his arm to the first box, trying to disguise the knife beneath his sleeve. He forced it into the shallow lock and twisted it. It took a few stabbing motions until he broke the seal, breaking it away from the heavy plastic frame. He prized the door open, before having a quick look around. He hadn’t aroused any suspicion. Inside was an Ikea bag containing a new cafetière, metal spoons and a few plates. Mike cursed under his breath before starting straight away on the next locker along. A drop of perspiration dropped off his creased brow. The lock gave in on the second slice of the knife. Mike swung the plastic door open.
Bingo.
44
What? Sorry – what?
That’s pretty much all my brain could say to itself as Mike explained to me all that he’d done. I didn’t manage to say much more than that either. But what I felt inside was a warmth. He wanted to look out for me, protect me.
When we got to his place, I dropped heavily onto his sofa, disintegrating into a tangle of limbs.
Fucking EXHAUSTED!
But I knew I couldn’t just completely switch off now, not quite yet. I hadn’t processed what Mike had just told me.
The house was in total darkness as I lay there, only some small illumination offered from the moon outside, creeping through the blinds. Mike busied himself, turning on lamps, lifting away magazines and a few cups.
“I’ll show you stuff in a wee bit,” he offered.
“I can’t bloody believe it. What the fuck Mike?” I said as calmly as I could.
He shrugged, “I just wanted to help,” he said, closing his eyes before walking to the kitchen door.
“I know – I’m just surprised. And what I meant to say was, ‘thank you’.”
He looked pleased.
“Coffee?”
“Yeah please… and a big, fat, fucking joint.”
Soon enough I was in the soothing glow of dim lights with a decent cup of coffee. Mike knew how I took it – with a spliff in the other hand!
“Feeling better?” he asked, smiling and inhaling on a roll up himself. He was seated on the chair opposite.
I nodded gratefully. I took a deep draw. Truth be told I really did feel better. There was a terrible weight at my core, but some of the other strain was falling away at the sides. It was dropping off, like stripping wallpaper, all uneven with different sizes.
“It’s so good to see you,” I said with a beam. It felt good to smile. It was wide – and honest.
He stubbed out his rolly in a glass ash tray and set me a concerned stare, “You too Vick.” He got up, “Bit of music?”
He crossed over to his records, pausing and selecting one carefully. I puffed happily on the smoke. I let it swirl around my mouth. The high was already just overhead, about to encircle my brain. It was most welcome.
“This is the one,” declared Mike, brandishing a record over his head, concealing the sleeve where I couldn’t see it. He looked over. “Here give’s that you, you’ll have it all smoked!” he said with a chuckle, coming over and taking the joint from my hand. Right enough, my eyes were growing heavy. I nearly had smoked it all too. I eased myself back into the cushions, feeling sleep close, not caring if it was the right time to sleep or not. First I had to do what my body told me to. My eyes were all but closed as I heard Mike sit back down, sucking on the number. Music began to swirl out from the speakers. There was organ and what sounded like train brakes screeching, radiating towards me.
“Afghan Whigs,” I said thickly, barely conscious.
“You’re right Vick… got it in one,” he said, taking another draw. “Wanna go for a ride?”
Sleep.
I woke up gradually, clawing my way back. I needed the loo, but tried to ignore it, pulling my coat around me, pushing my head deeper into the cushion, trying to go back under. Reality started to trickle in and I remembered that I was still on Mike’s sofa. I must have fallen into a very deep sleep. I could sense there was still a light on, but didn’t want to try opening my eyes. There was music playing lightly too. Heavy music – some kind of stoner rock. It’s always weird hearing loud music played softly. I squinted one eye open.
“Hello sleepy,” said Mike.
He smiled at me from across the room, a little bleary himself, smoking another J.
“Jesus, I’m fucking shattered.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said. I noticed that he looked more relaxed than earlier. He still retained some tension in his face, but he wasn’t as taut.
“I’m great company,” I said, raising a hand to stifle a yawn, comfy in my dozy and warm state. I felt sore, but there was a lovely layer of numbness draped over it.
“You
