Anywhere's Better Than Here (6 page)

The standing girl pushed her fringe off her forehead and put her hands on her hips.

‘‘Nuh, Siobahn. I'm no havin' it! I dinna even need this joab.'' She stood over Siobahn who clicked her phone shut and put it into her handbag.

‘‘Alright, Carole, let's go for a drink.'' She stood up, linked arms with her friend and they walked out of the building giggling.

The woman next to Laurie looked at her and smiled. ‘‘Well that narrows the field a bit, doesn't it?''

‘‘I suppose it does,'' said Laurie. Maybe this was a sign, thought Laurie.

The door opened. The interviewee looked as if she'd been crying.

‘‘Alright Janelle. We'll be in touch.'' She looked at Laurie and the other woman. ‘‘Weren't there more?''

Laurie and the woman nodded.

‘‘They had to leave,'' said Laurie.

‘‘Okay,'' said the interviewer. ‘‘That doesn't look good, does it?'' She nodded at the woman next to Laurie. ‘‘Margaret.''

‘‘Pat,'' smiled the woman.

‘‘This is daft, Margaret. I know you're a good worker, you might as well have the job.''

They both laughed for a moment. Then Pat looked at Laurie.

‘‘Have you cleaned before?''

‘‘Yes. Well, in my house.''

Pat looked at her watch. ‘‘That'll do for me. Do you want the job?''

Laurie frowned. This was all happening a bit fast.

‘‘It's six pounds an hour. You get subsidised food in the staff canteen and we provide the overalls. Interested?''

Laurie nodded.

‘‘Great! See you both tomorrow at 8.''

‘‘Okay,'' said Laurie, ‘‘bright and early.''

‘‘No, no. It's the night shift, love.''

‘‘Oh.'' Laurie thought for a second. ‘‘That's perfect.''

‘‘Okay then.'' Pat turned to Margaret. ‘‘Do you want a lift?''

‘‘Oh that'd be great. It's perishing out there.''

Pat smiled at Laurie. ‘‘Are you okay to get home, hen?''

‘‘Oh yes, thanks. Actually I'm meeting a friend here. Do you know where Hospital radio is?''

Pat thought for a minute. ‘‘That's up in the old bit, right at the top, above where maternity used to be. You'll need to go up the east stairs.'' She pointed to the back of the concourse.

‘‘Great. Right then, I'll see you tomorrow night.''

‘‘Okay,'' smiled Pat.

‘‘Cheerio,'' called Margaret as Laurie headed towards the east stairs.

It was weird but Laurie felt she had walked down every corridor a million times before. The muffled echo of her footsteps gave her progress a dream-like quality that allowed her to wander up and down flights of stairs and amble along identical hallways without any nervousness about what she was doing or where she was going. She passed only a few people on her travels and reasoned that she must be in some sort of geriatric dumping ground. People there were waiting to die, she sensed, and when they did there'd be talk of good innings and fair ages. If anyone had the thought to say anything. There was no sign of relatives pacing or dozing.

The building was full of public art. It was like visiting a gallery. Some of the paintings were quite depressing for a hospital. The people who decided these things should make more of an effort to consider the feelings of the patients and their families in the hospital. It was one thing going to a gallery and looking at pictures of mournful-looking people and dismembered dolls or whatever. But when you weren't choosing to be in a place and were likely feeling pretty crappy, these sorts of images could be quite jarring. There was one picture in particular that Laurie had found difficult to look at and yet, couldn't tear herself away from. It showed a man standing up in a little round boat. He was surrounded by piles of dead fish and he held a newspaper in one hand and what looked like a toasting fork or maybe it was a trident, in the other. She couldn't figure out what it signified.

Eventually it was nearly midnight and she went back to the radio station, such as it was. She'd gone past it once, much earlier, and as there was nothing to look at other than a sign saying Hospital Radio and a red bulb on over the door, she'd kept on moving.

She leaned back against the wall opposite the station door and waited. After some time passed, it might have been five minutes or half an hour, she had no way of knowing, she decided to knock gently on the door. It opened and a middle-aged woman appeared.

‘‘Are you new?'' she asked Laurie.

‘‘Em, yes,'' said Laurie. ‘‘I'm here on work experience.'' Where had that come from?

‘‘Work experience at midnight?'' She seemed to examine Laurie. ‘‘Aren't you a bit old to be on work experience?'' The woman frowned as she ushered Laurie into the room.

‘‘It's through the uni. I'm meant to be shadowing Gerry.''

‘‘He's a queer one to pair you with. Doesn't speak much.'' The woman frowned again. Laurie could almost see her pique at not being given a work experience student.

‘‘Maybe I'm supposed to get him to chat more.''

‘‘Yes, maybe so. Maybe you'll teach him a thing or two, eh?'' She gave a yelp of amusement and nudged Laurie in the ribs. ‘‘Well, he's a bit late, but I've put on the A side of this,'' she held up a Shadows album cover, ‘‘that'll keep things going for a while.'' She picked up her rain coat and a plastic bag. ‘‘Nice meeting you. Have fun!'' Then she was gone and Laurie was alone at the controls.

She sat down and put the headphones on. Granny music. She took the headphones off again, deciding to keep checking every few minutes that it was still playing. She prayed that Gerry would show up before she had to take decisive action.

Gerry didn't look surprised at all when he opened the door to the station. Laurie smiled up at him, holding the headphones clumsily against one ear.

‘‘Watcha,'' she said in a cockney accent, doffing an imaginary cap.

‘‘Good evening.'' Gerry made her a formal bow.

Laurie was actually delighted to see Gerry. That was what was really surprising about this turn of events: she was delighted to see him. He looked more attractive than she remembered.

‘‘You don't mind. Do you?'' she asked, beginning to rise from his seat – the only seat in the station.

He indicated to her to sit down and walked over to the controls. As he took the headphones from her, his hand glanced against her hand and then her hair, making her feel super-sensitive and clumsy. Then he turned the volume control up on the desk so they could hear the music in the room.

‘‘The bloody Shadows,'' he said. ‘‘What a surprise.'' He spoke to the ceiling rather than Laurie. ‘‘Just once I'd like to take over the reins from someone not playing music from before I was born.'' Without turning back to Laurie, he reached into the bag that was slung across his chest, and took out a CD. He put it on, faded down the Shadows and turned up the CD. He perched on the desk for a moment listening to the music. The longer they sat, the more Laurie wanted to kiss him. The more she wanted to kiss him, the less able she felt to look at him. Laurie looked down at her hands and started to move her bracelet up and down her arm. Realising what she was doing, she stopped abruptly and clamped her hands shut in her lap.

Gerry slid switches up and down and made green lights flicker on the little windows in the control panel.

‘‘Maybe I should go,'' murmured Laurie, half standing.

‘‘No, no. I'm just a bit weirded out, that's all.'' He turned towards her.

His face was still, a closed shell.

She wanted to say to him that she'd already taken a big step coming here, but then he smiled at her and reached a hand out.

‘‘I'm glad you came, I really am.''

She smiled back. He dropped his hand by his side and they sat in silence for a minute. Laurie spoke first.

‘‘I just got a job.'' She laughed. ‘‘I wasn't even trying.''

‘‘A job?''

‘‘Yeah! Here in the hospital as a cleaner! Weird, eh? The thing is,'' her face became more serious. ‘‘I actually need a job.''

‘‘Oh. Did you lose your job?''

‘‘No, not exactly.'' She sighed. ‘‘But if I don't turn up tomorrow, I think I'll be fired.''

‘‘Would you be bothered?''

‘‘Well, I've no intention of going tomorrow!'' She laughed breezily. ‘‘Anyway, I have this other job now, don't I?''

Gerry didn't look convinced by Laurie's carefree, plan-free, free-fall.

Laurie gave a little cough. ‘‘I'm starving. I forgot to eat today, I just wandered around all day. Oh!'' She clapped her hands together. ‘‘That reminds me,'' she fished around in her handbag, ‘‘I got you this.''

She held out a little tissue paper wrapped package. She chucked it over to him.

He caught it, frowning. ‘‘What is it?''

‘‘Open it.'' She pointed at the parcel.

He held the gift in his hand for a moment, feeling the weight of it.

Laurie could tell he was embarrassed. He didn't even know her. Not yet, anyway.

‘‘Go on. Don't be shy!''

He pulled the tissue paper away, revealing the lighter. He laughed.

‘‘Taking Care of Business! I like it!''

‘‘I thought it was funny and handy. A winning combination in a gift.'' She laughed and reached out for the Zippo. ‘‘A winning combination in life!''

She tossed the lighter from hand to hand.

‘‘We could use it if there was a power cut, or if we went camping, or to light candles. Or cigarettes. Or something …'' She trailed off, embarrassed.

‘‘It's great, I love it. Thanks.''

He stood up, took a step over to her and hugged her awkwardly. But then, after a few seconds, the awkwardness passed and they stood holding on to each other. He stroked the back of her head and she tucked her head into his chest. They made no attempt to kiss and when the song finished, Gerry stepped away to the mixing desk.

‘‘Do you know what? I'm going to put on a compilation so I don't need to keep going back to change the music.'' He raked around in his bag for a minute, then pulled out something called, ‘‘Acoustic Café'' and stuck it into the machine.

‘‘There. That's better. Now, for my next trick …'' he said and left the room.

Laurie glanced around at the station. It didn't fit in with her idea of what a radio station should look like. There were no pictures on the walls of the windowless room, no ornamentation of any kind. There was one bookcase filled with vinyl, stacked neatly in all but one of the shelves. The remaining shelf was filled with cassettes and A4 folders. There were no CDs at all. She got the impression from the shape of things and from Gerry's colleague, that Gerry was probably cutting edge to the other DJs, what with all his new-fangled audio equipment and shiny silver musical discs.

She thought he must be a good DJ though. He had such a nice voice. It was a shame he didn't speak to the patients when he was DJing, she was sure they'd find it very reassuring – those that were able to listen with any thought. She supposed the calm, assured voice came from his doctor dad. Not that all doctors had this kind of voice. But, in Laurie's experience, the best kind of doctors did. It was like calming animals: you had to sound firm and sure. It wasn't only men doctors that had this quality, but she would always prefer to have bad news from a man. Somehow, during her mother's illness, the men had seemed to be better at expressing certain facts as they came to light. When her mother was attended to by women doctors, Laurie had difficulty seeing them as anything other than glorified biological housekeepers. The men better conveyed a sense of understood human tragedy.

The door opened and Gerry walked in holding a wing-back armchair.

‘‘Ta da!'' he said setting the chair down next to her and ushering her into it.

‘‘Fancy! Where did you get this?''

‘‘Geriatrics. That's why it's vinyl.''

‘‘Ha! I like it. Wipe clean.''

‘‘So, what are your plans?'' asked Gerry, sitting down in the chair Laurie had just vacated.

‘‘Tonight or generally?''

‘‘Either? Both?''

‘‘Hmm. I don't know really. Well, I know that I'm not going back to my crappy phone job and I am planning to turn up for the cleaning one.''

‘‘I suppose that's a start. Is cleaning something you want to do?''

‘‘Not particularly, but working at night when there's hardly anyone around appeals to me. Besides, I'm not qualified for anything really.''

‘‘What have you been doing since you left school?''

‘‘Well, Dad,'' she started to laugh, but the look on Gerry's face silenced her. ‘‘Sorry, I was only kidding.'' Gerry reddened.

‘‘I mean it's not like you're that old. Not old enough to actually be my Dad.''

‘‘I know,'' he looked up at her, ‘‘but it's a bit weird, isn't it?''

‘‘Not really. I thought you were just a really hard-living twenty year old.'' She laughed properly now.

Gerry smiled.

‘‘How old are you then? If it's not too impolite to ask an elderly person that.''

‘‘I'm thirty four. How about you? Seventeen? Eighteen? As long as you're legal!''

Now Laurie was embarrassed. Gerry turned back to the controls and twiddled with the mixer. There was a silence for a moment. Laurie swithered about saying she was older, but she had the urge to start being a bit more honest. At times.

‘‘I'm twenty four, twenty five in January. That's not too bad, is it?''