On Ambition

If I work really hard they might give me a promotion, then I can get a new suit, ooh, and perhaps save up for a new car, the Fiesta looks nice doesn’t it, one of my neighbours has got one, red, I think, makes him seem even more dynamic than ever, he parks it on the drive in front of his house, lovely estate, his is a luxury house as the paint in the bathroom was a different colour, I only got a single bedroom but that’s okay, only me there normally, well, aside from the obvious at the weekend.

Springtime brings new hope and a new need to fuck. This, I think, is the only explanation to what is happening. Early spring, and meeting someone new so that, far from completing three years alone, I find myself emailed to meet Nic again, this time at her Department. Prior emotional entanglement had once made this seem impossible. Its rare for me to be around so early, as I’ve normally been working late. This makes me glad to have made the effort. If I ignore the lecture then I can just get there in time.

As with virtually everything in this city, I end up walking up hill. When I first moved here, the slopes came as something of a surprise. But its the hills that sculpt the place, giving it an interest that is so often missing. Not only that, but if you cycle anywhere, as I often do, half of the journeys are devoid of effort as you can freewheel to the destination.

I’ve not been in this Department before, and have to ask a scarily efficient secretary for directions, who points at a sign behind my head. Up the stairs to the library, and look in. She’s not th…(previously posted from here)

Sometimes you see a face in the crowd, and it brings it all back. Eyes glance near you and there’s recognition, from at least one side, of the friend you once knew, in a different time and place. Or of the times spent there with them and others.

Walking back on the brick concourse, and nearly under the concrete bridge that once won a civic prize (how so remains a mystery), a carbon print of S walks towards me. She would, I think, be consistent to the point of ignoring my hello and striding past, eyeing up the more attractive pedestrians.

But I don’t say hello. Even as she is approaching and I see and recognise her face (perhaps there are only a finite number of faces; we are not, then, unique, but merely unusual in our own sphere of the world), I’ve been transported back. Back by 15 years, or more, I guess, to the first realisation that she knew that she could do better. How fortunate, that the past is dead, with no current influence save the needless length of a pocket address book.

Back at the office, and there is a coffee on the desk, cold, from before the mid day escape. Picking up a spoon from the desktop, I scrape the congealed dark brown powder from the edge of the mug, stir it, and lay the spoon back down again in the bacterial sea. If I get sick, I get time out of here so the chance of infection isn’t a bad thing, but an opportunity for rest. Just like the times at school, staying up most of the night without heat in the room, praying to get a cold, get flu, or to be abducted by the reflection in the mirror when going to the loo after 3am, just to avoid the necessity of school for the day.

An eventual reunion.

“Did you see the words”

“No.”

“The link. I sent you a link.”

“I’ve not seen anything.”

He moved back to the door.

“What link?”

Having decided not to compete again, we sat ourselves next to the pool table, together on a bench seat that merged with the chocolate wood panelling. I put my arm around her.

“Don’t!”

“Sorry.” I removed my arm. Stared at the table.

“Someone might see us.”

“The pubs empty.” Looking up.

“And the door is just there. Someone might come in.”

Back to the table again.

“I’m sorry, I know its hard. But you’ve got to trust me. I’m going to sort things out between me and Mark. You’ve got to be patient. At the moment you can’t be seen with me. You know that.”

It didn’t help.

I drained my pint, and went to the bar for another. Sofia was there, a girl from my first year class who I had asked out, drunkenly as that was the only way I ever had the confidence, and who had at least now switched to laughing with me after the two years had past.

“Two pints of Magnet please.”

“You okay Andy?”

“Just great. Just got essays, you know what its like.”

“Sure. I’ve got a couple due in next week.”

“I might get started on them soon. Or it will be another all-nighter.”

I paid for the drinks with more of the graduate debt, and went back to the table.

“Happy Thursday.”

Up the stairs to the library, and look in. She’s not there. Not that I can see. I’m meant to be meeting her. Secret, like, no-one should know. None of her friends. Or her boyfriend. I don’t know why she asked me here. I have to pretend – what – I guess that we’re just off to lunch or something.

Carry on looking round. By the window, far left. Yes. She sees me, packs her books into her bag, grabs a bunch of pencils and her keys, and walks over.

“Hi Andy.” She stepped towards me. “Oh, have you met,” turning her head to the girl sat at the table. I shook my head. “Helen, this is, er, Andy. Andy, Helen.” I said hello. “Lets go.”

The department was equidistant from the main campus, my house, and her own. We headed away from hers, to the relative safety of where I lived, and the pub opposite. Less chance of seeing anyone she knew. Not that I’d be able to show any affection in public. That was strictly off charter, until she’s sorted out things at home. Always in hand.

Before I’d arrived at the city, I’d been told, the pub had been a place for bikers, and had a reputation as being unfriendly towards the tidal influx of new residents. Although it retained a general gloom, I found the cheap beer, pool table, and generally a few faces that I knew to be quite welcoming.

We hit the pool table.

I was never a great player, although I had occasional beer-induced boughts of inspiration. Nic was about the same. we had a couple of games, winning one each, and laughing all the way.

Back in the days of the shop. The very early days. There was a night out, funded by a lens company, probably in lieu of our wages for a month or so. We had to drive from our base in Worcester to wherever the Sigma and Jessop event was taking place. Fortunately, we had a designated driver, a certain person of South Eastern descent who held overall responsibilty for the safety and conduct of this small band of maverick retailers.

On the way back, he took us for pizza to absorb some of the alochol. Then we went to someone’s house, allowing one member of staff (not me) to fall asleep in the loo. We took him home and knocked on the door. His girlfriend answered, and was informed “Its okay, he’s drunk”, whereupon the drunken one fell in, and the door was violently slammed closed. How we laughed.

On the way there, down one of the lanes, we’d encountered a couple engaged in personal activity in a car. Once we’d finished the call of nature, the driver of the minibus flashed the lights and honked the horn. The guy in the car was quite annoyed.

In the morning, the van and one remaining renegade retailer drove to the Malvern Hills, to watch the sun come up and, unfortunately, to cover the floor of the hire vehicle with vomit.

We normally tried to get the end breaker, by the car park and with the view down the stretch of beach leading up to the steps by the railway. The space between the breakers was insulated from the wind, and the wooden structures, encrusted as they were with seaweed, barnacles and tar, gave a great frame for the foolhardy to play upon.

Along the prominade there were vans selling ice cream and steps over the concrete wall. Even – at one or two points – slip roads so that you could take a boat down to be launched. Or a 4×4, to get stuck in the sand.

The sand on this stretch wasn’t soft and golden, but a solid and always moist clump. Ideal for sand castles, whose moats could be filled from the sea before giving up their defences altogether to the impending tide.

Families would camp there for days, dissuaded only by the rain showers, when they were forced to relocate to the amusement arcades or the pub. The lights bathed the town with a neon glow, behind which, and back up into the hills, the more traditional victorian stone buildings could be seen, weathered and pastel.