Daft Wee Stories (15 page)

He looked around again to find out who did it. He wasn't interested in why or how, just who. If he could find a person, all of this would probably make sense soon enough. But nobody was there. There was a wee bush just off the road that could hide somebody, providing they were no taller than a foot. But he wouldn't bother checking that. Maybe later, if he lost his mind.

He looked up, screwing his eyes at the sun. Maybe a bird had dropped it. Maybe a bird had stolen it off a garden table in a nearby town, carried it off all the way here, before looking down to its talons and thinking, Wait a minute, I thought I grabbed a muffin, what the fuck's this? But there weren't any fucking birds, how many times did he need reminding?

He wondered if it was maybe rubbish dropped from a plane. They've got to drop it somewhere. Maybe the tea bag was just the start of it, and any second now it would start raining polystyrene cups and tampons.

But there weren't any planes. Not anywhere. There was nothing in the sky. Nothing. There were astronauts, of course, but let's not go there. Just don't.

Anyway, it came from the side. He remembered it didn't fall from above, it came from the side and hit him right on the cheek, like it was thrown at him full speed from somebody standing ten feet away. But, seeing as nobody was there, the only conclusion was that it was shot. Shot from the distance, from some sort of gun.

You what?

He could feel himself start to go a bit mental, but what else could it be bar a gun? It must have been shot from some kind of sniper rifle. Or a tank.

What, like a tank that shoots tea bags? A tea-bag tank? You're not serious, are you?

He was losing it. He needed to keep it together. A tea-bag tank? No. But maybe something similar. He asked himself again if he was serious, and he had to tell himself to hear himself out and just think about it. Was it not out here they did tests? Military tests? They tested nuclear bombs in places like this, out-of-the-way places; well, maybe now they were testing something more psychological, like hitting terrorists with tea bags so that they freaked out just like he was doing.

Keep it together, mate, keep it together.

He looked back to the bush.

No, don't.

You know nobody could be hiding behind there. That bush couldn't hide a person any taller than twelve inches. Do not fucking look, mate. Don't. If you look behind that bush, you're accepting the possibility that a person of that height came out to the Nevada desert simply to hit you in the face with a wet tea-bag. It would be like pulling a stray thread in your brain. Just fucking leave it.

But he couldn't.

He began walking over, then stopped, in fear of losing his mind. Then he began again, for there was nothing to fear. He would lose his life out here under that sun, he knew it, and the sooner he lost his mind, the better.

He looked slowly around the bush, preparing himself for whatever came next. A fight? Another tea bag?

There was nothing.

He walked all around the bush, he looked inside: nothing. He looked up to the sky once again, he looked down, he looked to the horizon. No birds, planes or tea-bag tanks. There was no explanation for what had happened. None whatsoever.

Unless, of course …

Unless this was all …

Unless this was all just a …

He woke up.

Face down in the dirt of the dusty Nevada desert.

He couldn't remember passing out. He couldn't remember a thing.

Barry was waiting in the queue in Boots, his stomach in fucking knots. It was his girlfriend Lynn's birthday tomorrow, and he was dreading it. He was dreading it because of what was in his hand. A present. Nail varnish. Was it the right colour? He didn't know, he just did not fucking know, and it was killing him. But he had to make a decision, he had to. The place was shutting and he had to make a decision pronto, he had no other choice, and if it was the wrong colour, well, what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to know? He just hoped it wasn't the wrong colour, he just hoped it wasn't, but he had to make a decision. He could feel his throat tighten. He took a deep breath; it was only nail varnish. It was only nail varnish.

But it wasn't, was it?

It started with the trainers. The very first present Barry had ever bought Lynn was a pair of trainers. That was back when they just started going out. He didn't really know what to get, then he spotted a pair of trainers he liked, so he bought them. Simple as that. That's how he decided on things back then, that's how simple it was. She unwrapped the present, looked at her trainers, and couldn't contain her disappointment. She didn't want them. They were a decent pair, but she didn't wear trainers. She thanked him and everything, she was nice about it, but she told him she would take them back, and fair enough, he should have known. When had he ever seen her wearing trainers? Oh well.

On her next birthday he tried a bit harder. He didn't want a repeat of the trainers thing, it had made him feel stupid. He decided he'd get her perfume, but he wouldn't just get the first thing he saw like he did with the trainers, he'd spend a bit of time. He smelled about ten perfumes before deciding on one, then he changed his mind and decided on another, then he wasn't sure about any of them. He didn't like that feeling, he wasn't used to it, it was painful. He eventually picked one that he thought smelled a bit more elegant than the others, if that's the term. It smelled classy. He wrapped it up and gave it to Lynn. As she began unwrapping, Barry felt a tension that he hadn't felt before. Birthdays were supposed to be fun, but now it wasn't so much. When all the wrapping was gone, Lynn looked at the box of perfume, and Barry could tell by the look on her face that he'd done it again. Even before she smelled it, he could tell that he'd done it again. She thanked him, but she said that Vanderbilt was for old ladies. He'd never heard of it. She said it smelled like a bingo hall, and laughed. He laughed as well, it was good that she was laughing, that's what he was used to – people made mistakes and people had a laugh. But then she stopped laughing and sighed. Aye, he'd done it again.

Then he did it again, and again. Every year. It got harder, and it took longer, not just longer in terms of deciding what to get, but the tension leading up to the big day, and the aftermath. That got longer. In the early years, he felt pre-birthday tension for as little as a week, and felt shite afterwards for as little as a fortnight. Now, after sixteen years, the pre-birthday tension lasted no shorter than three months, with the aftermath lasting no less than six. That was practically the whole year. It was poisoning him. It was spreading like cancer to every other part of his life. He used to not give a fuck, now every decision felt like he was defusing a bomb, whether it was deciding where to go on holiday or what colour to paint the walls or what socks to wear in the morning. Then there was the big one itself, deciding on what to get her for her birthday. Last year was the worst year yet. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. He'd bought her a hamper. A fucking hamper. A hamper of food off a shopping channel. She asked him if he was joking. He told her he wasn't, and then he broke down in tears.

He couldn't do it any more. He just couldn't. He was already dreading her next birthday. Here, on this birthday, he was already dreading her next. So they came to an arrangement. Lynn said that for her next birthday, they could go out together and she'd just pick what she wanted. It would ruin the surprise, aye, but maybe it was better the surprise was ruined rather than Barry's surprises ruining her birthday. Barry agreed. He felt elated. He felt a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, he felt a sadness leave him that he'd grown so used to that he didn't even realise it was around. It lasted throughout the year, that feeling. His confidence came back, he didn't care what socks he put on in the morning, he didn't even care if they were odd. It lasted throughout the year, right up until a few days ago.

It was that time again. Lynn had mentioned that her birthday was coming up, as if he didn't know. Barry asked her if the deal was still on, if she was going to pick her presents, because that's what she said, that's what she said last year, if she remembered, was that still the case? She told him to relax, it was. So they headed out and into a shop and she picked a dress and a bracelet thing, and he bought it, right there in front of her. It didn't seem right to Barry, it didn't seem how birthday presents should be bought, but at the same time it felt wonderful. They walked out of there arm in arm, and that would have been that. It was perfect, as far as Barry was concerned. But then this morning, the day before her birthday, she had to go and ruin it.

‘You know what else I could do with?' she said. ‘For my birthday?'

‘What?' asked Barry.

‘Nail varnish.'

‘All right. What colour?'

‘You decide.'

‘What?' said Barry, not believing his ears.

‘You decide,' she said.

Barry felt dizzy. She had asked him to decide. He felt sick. ‘But …'

‘It's only nail varnish,' she said.

But it wasn't, was it?

If he couldn't decide on what colour of nail varnish to get, if he couldn't even decide on that, then he couldn't decide on anything, he couldn't decide full stop. But he had to.

He'd got himself along to Boots, over to the nail varnish aisle, and there he'd stood without moving a muscle for almost ten minutes, gazing at the spectrum of options, at the variety of potential mistakes. He'd picked up a red one and had a look, he was going to get that, but he wondered if that was maybe too ‘tarty', so he put it back. He'd picked up a green one, because there was a woman in a wee poster above the nail varnish aisle and her nail varnish was green, and she looked kind of elegant and that reminded him of that elegant perfume he got, the one for old women, and so he put it back. And then he saw Lynn's pal Sandra in there, there in the shop, and she said hello to him as she walked by but he didn't say hello back because his attention was on her nails and they were yellow so he thought that if it was good enough for Sandra then it was good enough for Lynn but then he remembered that Lynn once said that Sandra ‘hasn't got a clue', he didn't know what about, but he remembered it was said in a way that meant that Sandra hadn't got a clue in general and therefore that cluelessness would probably also extend to her choice in nail varnish, so he didn't really know what to get, he was going to get blue, he didn't like blue, it reminded him of the blue ice poles that nobody liked when he was young because they were bubblegum flavour and they were minging and although that doesn't relate to the colour of nail varnish he thought he'd go with his gut and put it back because nobody would wear blue nail varnish, he was quite sure of that, then somebody walked by and told him they were shutting so he just shut his eyes and picked one, he just shut his eyes and picked one, and now he was at the counter, the lassie was asking him over to serve him, and he put down the nail varnish but he didn't look to see what colour it was, his attention was on the nail varnish of the lassie serving him, she seemed quite stylish like she knew her stuff yet her nail varnish was blue, and things went a bit blurry at that point and he started to feel dizzy again and sick and he turned and saw Sandra next to him in the queue, she looked concerned, and then he looked back at that blue bugglegum, blue buggle, bubble, blue bubblegum ice pole flavour and he just walked out of there, he just left his purchase sitting on the counter and he just walked out of there,

he started to cross the road outside and he heard a woman shouting to him from behind so he turned around and it was Sandra again and she was waving with one hand and in her other hand was the nailv, nailv, nail vaaarnish and she was shouting something about him leaving something at the till but he couldn't quite hear her for the traffic, then her eyes widened as she pointed to something to his side because he'd forgotten for a moment that he was standing in the middle of the road and something was heading his way, he didn't know what, something big, something casting a big shadow, and he supposed that he'd better make a decision, he'd better decide if he was going to run to this pavement or that, if he was going to run towards this side or that, if he was going to run towards the shop and Sandra with the nail varnish or run to the other side towards Lynn the birthday girl who wants the nail varnish but wasn't going to get any,

he supposed he'd better make that decision pronto because that was a big shadow and it was loud,

he looked at Sandra, at the present, in her hand, at the nail varnish, the one he bought,

he could see what colour it was,

it was quite nice, especially considering he picked it with his eyes shut,

or was it?

he didn't know, he couldn't quite decide,

he wondered what Lynn would have thought,

anyway, as for that decision, that decision that he had to make pronto in relation to being on the road, no, he just couldn't do it any more, he just couldn't,

so he waved back to Sandra from the middle of road, and smiled.

He'd made a decision after all.

And a pretty big one at that.

‘Janice!' said Tracy, as they were about to pass each other. Tracy had just stepped into the shopping centre as Janice was about to head out.

‘All right? How's it going?' said Janice, giving Tracy a kiss and cuddle. ‘What you in for?'

‘Oh, I'm just taking a top back,' said Tracy, opening her bag to give Janice a glance. ‘It's too wee. I didn't try it on at the time.'

‘Oh, that's really nice,' said Janice, looking at the top. ‘Are you going to get a bigger size or get something else?'

‘I might get something else,' said Tracy. ‘I've already got a top like it anyway, I don't know why I got it. I think I just fancied grabbing something.'