Candy Read Free

something to eat, sit down for a few minutes…
    Sit by the window.
    Watch the streets.
    Watch the station.
    Yeah, I could do that…I mean, it wouldn’t be like I was looking for anyone in particular, would it? I wouldn’t be sitting there wringing my hands and leering at the streets like some sappy little kid with hormone trouble…
    No, I’d just be sitting there, eating a burger, gazing coolly through the window, just passing the time…
    Nothing wrong with that.
    It was fairly busy inside. Most of the tables were already taken and there were lines of customers shuffling around in front of the counter—bunches of kids, older couples, some hard-looking black guys in hoods and chains. I joined the back of the line and started scanning the menu boards. I don’t know why I bothered, really. I can never understand them—large meals, extra meals, extra-large meals, two somethings for 99p, regular this and regular that…it’s way too complicated for me. I always get the same thing, anyway—a quarter-pounder-with-cheese meal and a black coffee.
    The line shuffled forward.
    The woman in front of me was thinking about joiningthe line to our left. I could see her weighing it up, trying to work out which line was moving the fastest. She hesitated, changed her mind, then decided to go for it. As she stepped to one side, I stepped up, but then she changed her mind again and squeezed back in front of me.
    I moved back to give her some room, then started digging around in my pocket, looking for some money. Dad had given me £20 that morning, and I still had most of it left.
    “Make sure you get yourself something to eat,” he’d told me. “And get a taxi back from the station if it’s late.”
    He’d given me the look then, the look that says, I’m not going to lecture you about what sort of food to eat or what to spend my money on, because you’re old enough to act responsibly now…and I’d like to think I can trust you…but just watch it—OK?
    His face flashed into my mind for a moment—long and gray and serious—and I wondered, as I’ve often wondered before, why he always appeared so distant to me…so detached, so remote. It sometimes felt as if he wasn’t my father at all, just a tall gray man called Dr. Beck, who lived in the same house as me and told me what to do.
    I pulled a £5 note from my pocket. It was folded up into a tight little square and, as I yanked it out, the edge got caught in the lining of my pocket and a handful of coins came flying out. I made a grab for them with my other hand, but they were already clattering to the floor— chink-chink-chink —and rolling like mad all over the place. Everyone looked around, of course—looking at the floor, watching the coins, watching them roll. God, they rolled a long way. A few people started stamping on them, or bending down to pick them up, but most of the otherscouldn’t care less. After a quick look to check out the dumb kid throwing his money around, they just shook their heads and got back to their business.
    I could still feel my face turning red, though.
    I knew I was expected to do something, but I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t want to go scrabbling around on my hands and knees looking for 10p pieces. I didn’t want people looking at me. But then, if I didn’t start picking the coins up, if I just stood there and left them on the floor, everyone would think I was a spoiled little brat, some fancy-pants rich kid with too much money for his own good. I could imagine them thinking, Look at him, who does he think he is, standing there throwing his money away…
    I didn’t know what to do.
    I wished I’d never come in here.
    Eventually, I decided on a compromise. I’d pick up the coins I could see, then have a quick look around, like I was looking for the rest of them, then I’d shrug my shoulders and casually stroll back to the line. Maybe I could even try smiling a bit…you know, one of those self-mocking smiles that says,