I am not looking forward to it.
I do not like parties.
I do not like to be around too many people at once.
It makes thinking even harder.
Dr Acari, my neurologist, once tried to explain to my mum, Erica, what it is like to be me in a room crowded with people. He said, ‘Imagine trying to say your thirteen times table while half a dozen people are shouting in your ear and you’ll not be far off the mark.’
Dr Acari is right. It can be a lot like that. I think it is also a lot like trying to remember what you had for breakfast two weeks ago while a wasp buzzes in your ear.
Before The Incident I was the Labour MP for Birmingham South. Well, when I say that I was an MP, what I mean is that I was elected. Because of The Incident I never got to make my maiden speech in parliament. This makes me sad when I think about it because I think I would have been a good MP. And I think I would have made a good speech too.
Before I became an MP I was the managing director of DeWitt and Partners. It was a property development company.
My company used to turn old office blocks into residential apartments.
I do not work in property development or have ambitions to be in politics any more.
Mostly I just sit in my room watching DVDs.
My five favourite DVDs to watch are:
Friends (box set)
Die Hard
The Matrix
The Bourne Ultimatum
Bad Boys II
In the jeweller’s Dad shows me Mum’s necklace. I tell him she will love it because it is exactly the sort of thing she likes. Mum has lots of jewellery like it already and I tell Dad that he has chosen well. The lady in the jeweller’s asks me if I think my mother will like it but because my speech is so slurred, she has to ask me to repeat what I say. Ashley, my speech therapist, says that even though my voice sometimes sounds fine in my head, it can come out slurred. I am a lot better than I used to be though. I used to be a lot worse and not even my mum, dad or my sister Martha could understand me.
In the car on the way home Dad tells me how he is going to present the necklace to Mum on Saturday at their wedding anniversary party and then tells me the story again of how they met.
It was at a summer ball.
My dad, Don, and my mum, Erica, were both at Oxford University.
My dad, Don, was studying Economics and my mum, Erica, was studying Art History. At the summer ball Dad asked Mum to dance with him, even though he could not dance. Dad stepped on Mum’s toes a lot of times during that dance but Mum did not let on that he had hurt her feet until they were married four years later. ‘And now here we are,’ says my dad, and he laughs like he has made a joke.
I cannot help thinking that what my dad, Don, means is that because Mum did not tell him he was hurting her feet forty years ago, he is sitting in a car with me. If Mum had told him that he was hurting her feet, he could have got embarrassed and then I would not be here and my dad would be in a different car with a different son called possibly James or more likely something else.
That evening at dinner my mum, Erica, does not cut up my food and she does not do it the evening after either. But the evening after that, as Dad and I sit down at the table, she presents me with a meal of baked cod, potatoes and broccoli already chopped into little bits. I look at Dad and Dad looks at me, but neither of us says a word.
3
Danny
After my performance on my last visit, I had seriously considered donning a large hat, dark pair of sunglasses and fake beard for my tail-between-the-legs return to the Job Centre. But as I enter the building and walk past the fake potted palms, I quickly come to realise that not a soul cares that I am here. Instead there’s just the usual queue of depressed-looking jobseekers waiting to sign on and a number of equally depressed-looking employment officers – stares set to a thousand yards – waiting to assist them.
The reason for my return is simple: I’ve come to terms with the fact that I need a job, any job, if I’m going to stop Maya leaving me. The truth is, I’m well aware that even her saint-like qualities can only be pushed so far before she breaks and as it is, I already feel as though she can barely look me in the eye any more, knowing that I’m no longer even contributing the little that I had to cover our joint expenses.
As I scan my surroundings, my eyes lock on the large touch screen to the right of me. I’ve lost count of the number of times that the existence of this computer has been pointed out to me by Job Centre staff, only for me to diligently ignore it. But today I don’t disregard it, today I make it my sole destination, and as I stride purposefully towards it I feel strangely hopeful.
I wake the computer screen with a gentle tap and it’s only the matter of a few more taps before I’m presented with my first potential job … for a full-time sheet metal worker/welder. It’s in the south of the city so travelling wouldn’t be a problem and the pay is pretty decent too. If I only knew what sheet metal working was or even had a rudimentary knowledge of welding, it would’ve been the perfect position for me but as it is, it’s no use at all. As I scroll past vacancies for hairdressers, office managers, poultry unit supervisors, credit controllers and forklift truck drivers, it dawns on me that I’ll be here all day unless I narrow down my search parameters. And sure enough the moment I do, a more suitable opening presents itself: ‘Trainee care home assistant, Kenilworth, no experience necessary, training given, pay rate: minimum wage. Please quote ref: QF300BAFSD.’
Even though I’m not exactly sure what’s involved in being a trainee care home assistant, I’m cheered by the fact that this job is reasonably local (Kenilworth is only about half an hour away from town) and, more importantly, doesn’t require me to have any skills whatsoever and so, rather than skipping through to see if anything else catches my eye, I decide that this is it, and press the on-screen print button. Moments later a sheet of paper with the reference and contact details of the employer splutters out from a nearby printer and, after filling in my personal details with a barely working Biro, I take it over to the advice desk. Only when it’s too late for me to turn back, however, do I realise that today the desk is being staffed by the same Job Centre employment officer who stopped my dole money.
‘Can I help?’ she says, thankfully choosing to pretend that we’ve never encountered one another before.
‘I’m interested in this job,’ I say, handing over my sheet of paper. ‘Is it still available?’
‘I can check if you like,’ she replies. ‘If it is, would you like me to call and book an interview for you?’
‘That would be great if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course,’ she says, nodding coolly. ‘I won’t be a moment.’
As my nemesis disappears behind an office door marked ‘Staff Only’, it occurs to me that given our last encounter, she is highly likely to toss my information into the bin and make herself a cup of tea instead. True to her word, however, she re-emerges from behind the door in less than a minute and as she returns to her desk, she even smiles in my direction.
‘You’re in luck, Mr Allen. Not only is the position still vacant but I’ve managed to secure an interview for you for this afternoon at one o’clock.’
My stomach ties itself in a million knots at the very thought of it. Much as I desperately need a job, it’s still something of a terrifying prospect now that it’s close to becoming a reality. My every instinct tells me to run and hide, and only stops when I picture myself giving Maya the good news.