In Pieces Read Free Page B

can’t say I do,’ answered Jimmy. He was used to the reflective side of Si. He sat back expecting some obscure musing from his friend and was ready to humour him. He wouldn’t respond; he never did. Not that he minded listening. It was just that he didn’t understand what Si was on about half the time.
    â€˜Well,’ said Si patiently, ‘we all run around like headless chickens doing things, work and going to the pub and meeting people and so on, but much of it doesn’t make sense. What’s lacking is something to hold it all together. You know, a structure.’
    For once Jimmy broke his rule and tried to get his head around Si’s philosophising. ‘You mean like a jigsaw puzzle in a box?’
    â€˜No, not really,’ said Si gently, slightly surprised by Jimmy’s observation.
    He paused for thought and watched his friend drinking. He hadn’t expected his friend to participate and had been using Jimmy much as a dandy uses a mirror when dressing: to glance vainly into from time to time just to confirm and take pleasure in his wondrous appearance. But Si wasn’t an intellectual snob and was prepared to consider Jimmy’s simile.
    â€˜That assumes it all fits together to make one picture. No, I’m not that optimistic. All I want is the sense that some of it matters… Some of the bits of my life, that is.’
    â€˜Mmm, I see what you’re getting at,’ lied Jimmy happily. Through the warm fug of the bar he dimly perceived that this was a special moment. One of countless instantly forgotten good times which make life bearable. Jimmy valued his evenings in the pub almost as much as he prized his friendship with Si. Not that he’d ever articulated either idea, not even thought them through clearly. But they were the bedrock of his life.
    ~
    Si stood in his bathroom, horrified. He should have known; of course he should. The trouble was, he half-suspected he had known. But he’d ignored the signs and not bothered to take pre-emptive action. He looked down with a mixture of dismay and fascination.
    The shards of glass spread like a mosaic out from the epicentre of the explosion. Silvered slivers, sharp as needles and some as big as daggers. The morning light slanting through the blinds played with the blunt angles revealed by the broken mirror and refracted rainbows onto the white bathroom tiles. Si noticed how a yellow blur melted quickly into a hot orange just above the taps.
    â€˜Damn,’ he muttered unconvincingly. What now? He couldn’t really move, standing as he was, barefoot in the middle of the broken glass. ‘Damn.’
    He had an idea. He spotted the carved frame of the mirror—an Oriental design in dark, painted wood. The frame lay on the floor where it had fallen. Like a guillotine blade, the mirror had slipped off the loose hook and fallen softly to the floor, exploding with a surprisingly loud bang. More of a crack, really, like a whiplash at the circus or static electricity. As the smooth face of the mirror smashed and slid into itself, over itself, sending sheets of glass skidding across the floor, the wooden frame remained upright for a second, as if stunned. In shock, like a shot man realising that death is upon him. Then it had gently toppled over.
    Si retrieved the frame and shook the remaining glass out of it. Then he used it as a stepping-stone to reach the door. He decided not to bother sweeping up until later. There wasn’t time.
    â€˜Damn,’ he muttered again as he closed the bathroom door on the scene. Now the prospect of cleaning up would hang over him like a black cloud all day. But worse, and he hated to admit it, he could feel the primitive suspicions of his childhood weighing upon him. He thought he’d laughed them off years ago. But the thought of what his mother would have said made him shiver.
    Si looked at his watch. Twelve ten. Time to get to the pub. Jimmy would be