Down the station

That’s me, there.
No, no, not the fat guy with the straining shirt buttons. I’m the other guy, the one standing; the one with the wiry, curly black hair and the beige chinos. Yes, that’s me.
It’s difficult, what with the sun glinting off my glasses, but also the distance, to see my piercing blue eyes, the slight hook of my nose and the lines on my forehead, but they are there. Here, take a look at this photo; my features are easier to see, even on a dog-eared example like this one. I was smiling there, a happier time.

But, I digress.

We’re not here to specifically notice me. I’m here to see the tall, slender blonde-haired woman that is standing just to my left. You can see that she has a somewhat austere look, but don’t be fooled by first impressions. I wasn’t, and I’m a testament to how loving she can be.
Obviously, this is merely a snapshot in our lives. Unlike the photo, the one I showed you earlier (remember?). This is not a happy time.

Only three hours before this, Claudia (that’s her name, by the way) informed me – because she was so formal about it, the words ‘told me’ don’t come close to describing how she gave me the news – that she was pregnant.
Normally, I would’ve been overjoyed. However, this particular day I’d just had other news which whipped away my joy at fatherhood like a waitress removing a soiled tablecloth: I’d found out from my doctor that I was completely infertile.

What would you do?

Me? I faked enthusiasm. In my job, it’s something I can do without blinking, blushing, scratching my nose (in fact, I’ve managed over the years to completely suppress my natural body language in these circumstances). I hugged, I whistled through my teeth, I smiled and whooped with delight: I made plans out loud. What I wanted to do was vomit, but I couldn’t.

Claudia, in case you hadn’t gathered, knew nothing of my illicit visits to the doctor. She knows very little, actually.

She still doesn’t, not at this particular juncture.

I see. Well, it’s like this… The reason she looks so pissed off is entirely down to the T-shirt I’m wearing. It’s covered up now, just to keep her momentarily appeased. She’s always hated this particular garment, mainly because of the slogan printed on the front. I printed it myself when I was a student – I studied costume design at St. Martins College – and I’m proud that, at the age of 35, it still fits me.

Of course! The footage is slightly grainy, so I’ll tell you what is says:

“You’re the reason abortion was made legal”.

I know, but it was a rebellious streak that I had back in the 1980s. I haven’t worn it since an ill-fated trip to Dublin, where the shirt caused something of a stir – although I think that the local paper likened it to a riot, but that’s a bit off. I forgot that they’re all Catholics.

I blame the alcohol I’d consumed.

I know this information is superfluous to your requirements, but I think it might help later on, when you want to paint a better picture for the rest of your crew. Yes, I think it might help.

I know exactly where we went after those images were shot. It was a friend’s wedding day. We all congregated at this little café, the one that you see on that freeze-frame. I had a double espresso to calm my nerves. I hadn’t changed into my suit at that point – I didn’t want to get it dirty with food and drink stains, something I’m rather prone to, I’m afraid – and so Claudia and I would have popped off round the corner to Jane’s flat. She, Jane that is, well, she’s a work colleague of Claudia’s. A bit prim and proper, but likeable enough I suppose.

Yes, I have nothing to hide! I was getting around to mentioning that we dated at University, Jane and I.

Well might I sound incredulous! You wanted me to tell you the whole story and I am. I won’t be rushed into it, only to be brought back in here, at some later date, to fill in the gaps.

Okay, I’ll calm down. Yes, I’d love a cup of tea, Earl Grey if you happen to have it? Sure, PG Tips will suffice. Thank you.

Shall I continue? No problem. Would you mind if I smoked while we wait for the tea to arrive? Do you happen to have a lighter I could borrow? Thanks. I do like a cigarette while telling a story, it makes me take the time to think things over and present them in the most coherent way. Yes, I do have one to spare. Please, help yourself to a cigarette. The packet is on the table.

Just help yourself.

Well, I must say that this tea is most refreshing. Many thanks again for bringing refreshments. Yes, let’s not be so impatient, there is plenty of time yet and we are only at the beginning of this story. You can’t rush the truth.

We left the café; Roger was boring us stupid and, even though there was over two hours until we were needed at the church, I wanted to get away. I think Claudia sensed how uncomfortable I was, she suggested that we make our way to Jane’s place. I didn’t want a scene on the pavement, so we went there. I thought we were going to have a fight, a right ding-dong, but instead she closed the door behind us and practically ripped my clothes off. She was like an animal. I hadn’t seen her like that, not since we were first going out, you know, when the sex is still new and exciting.

I’m sure you don’t need to hear the details of the next twenty minutes. Yes, well, you won’t be saving me from any embarrassment. The thought of it still brings a smile to my face and a spring to my step.

Anyway, we got dressed and went along to the wedding, as planned. It was a frightful affair, to be honest with you, not something I want to repeat for a long time. What? No, I never intend to get married. I think you’ll find that in my file you have in your hand. Among other things.

This conversation isn’t moving the story along, I need to get this off my chest – it’s like a confession, don’t you see?

Well, we left the party about 9 o’clock that evening. Nothing special had happened, not really; a couple of drunks fighting, speeches, more drinking and some terrible dancing to some songs I vaguely remember from my youth. Lots of back-slapping as we left, I remember that, mainly because I had been sunburned the previous day and it stung like fuck when idiots were coming up and saying how lovely it was to see us, Claudia and I.

We probably won’t ever see them again, that was what she said to me, but how little did she know how true those words would turn out to be.

I can remember the threadbare carpet that was on the stairs as we left the reception. There were holes that we had to tread around so that we didn’t trip and we were still tipsy from the sex. I can clearly picture my arm around Claudia’s waist, but I couldn’t get around to telling her my news. I needed some time to work out how I could accomplish what I had set out to do. I knew the baby wasn’t mine: that was all I knew.

Yes, that is definitely the two of us coming out of the flat. I think that we are picked up on camera that sits on top of the Royal Exchange building next. Yep, there we are. If you focus in on us, you should be able to tell that we are having words – her favourite expression for what any normal person would term an argument – not about the baby, but about whether we want to go home or on to another bar.

She wasn’t aware at all that I was stalling for time, that I had plans I needed to carry out.

In the end, as you can see from the camera that is situated about the bar door, that we did indeed decide to have a drink on our own. I had vodka on the rocks; she had a martini, I think.

As luck would have it, she went to the toilet just as you called me on my mobile. There, check out how it catches on my pocket, snags on something. I need to keep that from happening, just in case you don’t get there as quickly next time.

I cancelled the call as she approached the table, telling her that I was just checking the time. I don’t wear a watch, I told her. I do, but it’s hidden in my other pocket, somewhere I can glance at it, surreptitiously. Now, watch this closely. Can you pause it? No? Okay, just watch her actions now.

For some reason, she had gotten mad while in the ladies’ room. I don’t know what about. Should I have followed her in and listened at the cubicle? What do you think I am? No, it’s not in the job description, man. Let’s just move on. You can see us leaving and I hail the cab that I knew would be waiting on the corner.

I’ll fill in the gaps, as the camera in the taxi was on the blink – or did she place a coat over it?

It’s getting hard to remember now; this part is more of a haze than I thought it would be.

Well, as discussed with Central, I waited until we were riding along a back street. I don’t think she felt a thing. No remorse here, it wasn’t my fucking baby. I just followed instructions – that’s what I do. Pain? Pain! Do you really give a shit?

I didn’t think so.

Anyway, shortly after I left the cab, you picked me up and brought me here. Is there anything else you need to know? If not, I need some sleep. What? Oh, so he wants to see me now, does he? Sure, not a problem.

I expect that he has yet another job for me. I’m getting too old for this shit. I need some sleep. Three years I spent on this one. Three whole years.

There’s no need to lead me. I know the way.