Free Quantum Poppers by Matthew Reeve Page A

sight.

Chapter 8
     
    A week after
the events down The Cheeky Half (which had concluded three pints after the girl
with the red dress incident), Tony was leaving yet another job interview. This
one as a sales assistant for a bathroom store. The interview had been similar
to the previous. He had managed to enhance the preconceived notions of his
sports and music degree to be an advantage within the hi-tempo world of bathroom
retail and when asked the equivalent of which animal would best describe you
question - this one regarding which vehicle would best describe you - he had
managed to ramble off a lengthy answer as to how being a Honda VTR1000 was the
only option. Something about being fast, nimble and flexible. He was convinced
the outcome would be the usual ‘close but not what we were looking for’ reply,
which would suit him fine. The idea of selling carbon fibre washers and a
length of hose to an irate plumber made the international world of fin-ants a
heavenly option for employment.
    He left
Walter's Water Supplies and headed to the nearby bus stop which offered shelter
to the threat of rain. He had seen the dark clouds massing from within the
bathroom shop. It was an ominous sign that the sun had been swallowed by these
clouds just as the interview had started. ‘Thanks for coming, please take a
seat,’ the man Tony assumed was Walter had said - and then darkness fell.
    He stood
staring at the row of shops across the road. Cars drove by at high speeds,
criss-crossing his vision, some with their lights on early for 4.30 in the
afternoon. He watched people of varying ages, sex, and race, come and go from
sight. Was this man one of his repeat projections? Was this girl a double that
was oblivious to what was going on? He was convinced that some of the people he
had been seeing were aware that something was wrong (such as the kid in the
play area), but most didn’t (like the girl in the red dress). He didn’t know
who he pitied more. He landed on pitying himself. It seemed more his problem
than theirs; not the attitude a Honda VTR1000 would have had - or a crocodile.
If he walked up to the woman crossing the road to his left and pushed her in
the shoulder, what would the results be? Would he push through nothing as if
she were a ghost? Most likely his experiments would result in a slap - at the
very least a confused expression and eyes that pleaded for him not to hurt her.
    A bus pulled
into the stop from which Tony stepped back. An elderly couple made their way
onto it, flashing their passes like a police badge. It pulled away leaving Tony
to watch as more and more people passed, none with any evidence of being one of
his visions, which Tony took as a sign that maybe things were getting better.
He had put off telling Emma and there had been nothing since the girl in the
red dress. He had assured himself that there was no need to go to the doctors,
convinced that the worst had passed.
    The Ford Fiesta
pulled into the stop, its booming bass went from muted thumping to complete
attack as he opened the door.
    ‘What the hell
is this,’ he said as he got into the passenger’s seat, gesturing to the radio.
Its display flashed an animated blue light which pulsed almost in time with the
beat. Probably more for effect than accuracy.
    ‘I’m driver, my
music,’ said Emma. ‘Them’s the rules.’
    ‘Them's the
rules? But when I’m driving you tell me it’s the passenger who gets to choose.’
    ‘In this car,
it’s driver’s preference. You’re free to walk.’
    Tony forced a
smile and nodded his head in time to the music as if he could think of nothing
better than to listen to the electric bombardment of a drum machine. Although
only twenty-two he didn’t want Emma armed with any more ammunition about how he
was getting old. And she was only two years younger.
    ‘How was it
then?’ asked Emma. ‘That’s all I seem to be asking you at the moment.’
    ‘And it’s all I
seem to be answering. The usual.