“Phone. Thank you. Now follow my colleague to Booth Four.”
Jak trails wearily half a step behind the uniformed female security guard.
“Just step in here, Miss Churchwell, away from ogling eyes. I really don’t envy you working with some of these slobs, I really don’t.”
Jak grunts in agreement.
“I’m afraid I need to carry out a full and intimate search. Please place your clothing on the chair. Thank you.”
Jak passively allows the security guard to conduct her ‘full and intimate search’. After putting her clothes back on, she stands up to return to her workstation. The woman places a firm hand on her shoulder.
“We’re not done I’m afraid. Well I am, thank you for your co-operation. It’s not very nice for either of us, is it? But you’ll need to answer some questions,” she waves her phone in front of a sensor and taps in a code prompting a red light to come on, “if you just sit there and look into the light. It analyses your expression, to tell if you’re lying or whatever, and if you look away it doesn’t like it.”
The woman closes the door of the booth behind her, leaving Jak alone with the camera. The red light turns green.
“Answer our questions naturally and honestly. And look at the green light as you do so,” a softly spoken, slightly American but also slightly Irish, man’s voice fills the booth. It is calm but not soothing, patient but insistent.
Jak fidgets in her chair and stares at the light.
“What do you know about Farmoor Reservoir?”
“Farmoor? Nothing really. I’ve never been there.”
“You’re not being accused of anything. We’re just establishing facts here. So again, we’ll ask, what do you know about Farmoor Reservoir?”
“Erm, I know it’s got a big gull roost. Lots of them out on the water.”
“A ‘big gull roost’? When did you last visit the reservoir?”
“I haven’t. I told you.”
“But you attended a ‘big gull roost’, which is at the reservoir,” the voice becomes more assertive, its calmness turning edgier as it emphasises the phrase ‘big gull roost’ as though the gulls are big rather than the roost and, perhaps, doubts they are real birds at all, “so you did visit it.”
“No, no, you misunderstood. I saw pictures of the roost on a website. Because I’m interested in wildlife. But I’ve never actually gone there to see it myself. I’m not that interested in seagulls, to be honest.”
“In that case,” the voice remains sceptical, “on what website did you see pictures of a ‘big gull roost’ containing information about ‘sea gulls’ at Farmoor Reservoir?”
“Erm, God, I can’t remember. Maybe BBOWT?”
“What is the u-r-l of beebowt?”
“Erm, I dunno. It’s the Buckingham and Berkshire and Oxfordshire Wildlife Trust. Just Google it.”
“Okay, Jacqueline Churchwell,” calmness, verging on cheerfulness, returns to the voice, “that is all our questions. You are now free to return… oh hold on one second, apologies, we just have a final question for you and then you can go. Can you confirm what date you last visited Farmoor Reservoir?”
“I’ve never visited Farmoor Reservoir. Never in my life.”
“Thank you for your co-operation Jacqueline Churchwell. Please now return to Workstation Three.”
—
The sign says ‘CLOSED FOR NOW – BUT SOON THE BEER WILL FLOW’. Robbo tries to push the door open. It’s locked. So he hammers at it with his fist.
“Shut up and stop that thumping,” Ali leans out the window above, “I’ll be down in a minute.”
He opens the door a few minutes later, wiping the last speck of shaving foam from his face as he does so.
Robbo starts talking as soon as he steps into the shop, “so tired. Walked from Beri then slept all day yesterday. No luck at hospital. Thieving bastard took sim and bike. Got no money, well not much. And don’t know about any jobs now.”
“Berry? What’s that?”
“Berinsfield.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, that is quite a long way to walk. Even for a fit young man such as your good self. You should report the bike theft, Robbie Bobs, that’s out of order that is.”
“To the cops?” Robbo is very sceptical.
“Yes, look my friend, I know there’s no chance they’ll do anything, and you’re no fan of theirs and they’re no friend of yours,” Ali concedes, “but if it does show up, you’ll have the right to claim it. Is it security marked?”
“What’s that?”
“Where did you get it from?”
“Guy in Littlemore. Years ago.”
“Oh, the guy who had all the nicked bikes in his garden… oh I see. Okay nevermind,” Ali shakes his head resignedly, “to be honest, my friend, it’s a case of what goes around comes around as far as I can see. What were you doing in Berinsfield anyway?”
“Oh, you know,” Robbo shrugs several times and looks at the floor, “nothing. Not really anything. Just a misunderstanding, you know.”
Ali grimaces to himself and this time nods but, again, resignedly, “I see. Well, you’re here in Ali’s Bottle Shop now, my friend. Let’s see what I can find for you to do. Usual rate?”
“Yeah.”
“And beer at the end of the shift, not during.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, and Robbie Bobs,” Ali remembers, “there was a bin bag outside last night. I think it’s your stuff, clothes. Not your bike, nothing like that. But might have your sim card, you never know. I put it behind the counter. Have a rummage.”
—
Sylvie stands at the kitchen sink, taps dribbling water into a mostly empty washing up bowl, staring out the window at dead flowers in the garden.
Jak approaches cautiously, “mum, I want to ask you something.”
Sylvie wipes a plate and then passes it to Jak, “okay, on you go.”
Jak starts drying the only slightly damp plate with a teatowel, “will you come to Pride with me?”
“When and where is it?”
“Saturday, the parade starts at eleven from the bottom of Cowley Road.”
Sylvie grimaces to herself, half turns towards Jak and shrugs, “I don’t think so, babe. Not really my scene. You must have other friends who actually want to go…”
“It would mean a lot, mum,” Jak persists, “it really, really would.”
“I’m not sure, babe. I’d feel like an imposter…”
“I really need someone to go with, just to be beside me because Carly won’t be…”
“I know babe, I know,” Sylvie briefly touches her daughter’s arm, “but I just think someone younger maybe, more your own age, maybe more…”
“More gay?”
“Yes, yes that’s who it’s for after all…”
“You don’t have to be gay to join a pride parade, mum, it’s for everyone. It’s a carnival, like the old Cowley Road Carnival you and dad took me to…
“Like where he’d get drunk with his idiot friends and you’d spend the whole time wanting ice cream, then when I get you one, you drop it on the road and start crying?”
“Well no, not like that. Like May Morning…”
“Never been. Too early in the morning. Too weird.”
“Well it’s good. Anyway, you just, you know, you just go along with it, and relax and enjoy yourself.”
“Yes but, I wouldn’t enjoy it, babe, would I? And everyone would be able to tell. I’d be like a deaf man at a concert who can’t join in when everyone else is singing along.”
“What? No. Mum, it won’t be anything like that.”
“Or a diabetic in a sweet shop, actually no not that, like a vegan in a butchers or something like that, someone with a peanut allergy at a children’s party…”
“Mum!” Jak raises her voice, exasperated, “shut up now! I’ll ask someone else.”
“Okay babe, sorry,” Sylvie turns back to the sink and starts wiping a chopping board, “what is wrong with our taps today?”
Jak vigorously finishes drying the already-dry plate, takes it over to the cupboard and opens the door, muttering as she noisily puts it away, “I’ll see if a deaf vegan with a nut allergy wants to come with me, will I? Maybe we could eat some sugar-free tofu together, if they’re not allergic to that as well.”