The Clutter Box Page 6

Chapter 6

  “It’s a cushy job - just hitting auto drive and waiting around,” I said as we got in the car.

  “I don’t mind. Dr Thorn thinks that I’m invaluable to her research and was good enough to place me on the payroll. I spend most of my time just sitting around, but I do what I can to help. My gift’s unique according to her.”

  I wondered if she’d been behind this dinner invite. To find out if we’d get along.

  I shrugged and said, “I don’t like all the sitting around, I did today. I was hoping they’d give me some worthwhile tasks.”

  Bruce widened his eyes. “Depends what you consider worthwhile.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s all a matter of perspective,” said Bruce as he leant forwards, “To our alimentary canal, we’re just secondary brains whose job it is to fritter away our time, playing about with largely trivial notions, whilst our gut focuses on the important act of keeping us running.”

  Intestinal brains: he was starting to sound like Haggis.

  It was a short drive to Bruce's flat. He opened the car door for me, as formally as ever.

  He said, “I enjoy cooking for people. Curry is fine with you?”

  I said, “That would be great.”

  We went inside and climbed the first flight of stairs to his front door. He opened it and his daughter was there to greet us.

  “Hi, I’m Lizzie. You must be Ernum.”

  I said, “Hi.”

  The scent of cleaning products wafted through the doorway.

  “So, what do you think of the London office?” She asked, “Do you think you’ll get the job?”

  “It’s not really an office,” said Bruce.

  I said, “The people seem nice, but I have no idea what they made of me.”

  I was led into the living room and sat on an arm chair. Lizzie sat on the sofa.

  “I’d better prepare the food. Would you like something to drink? I have wine.”

  “Please.”

  He went into the kitchen.

  “Will you need a hand with the food,” I asked wanting to be useful.

  “No, no,” he said, “I’ve got everything sorted out here.

  “I turned to Lizzie. You live here with your Dad?

  “I’m back from university for the holidays.”

  “Ahh, what is it you’re studying?”

  “I’m doing a coffee art and management degree.”

  The three of us talked for hours. The conversation went quickly and smoothly, and I enjoyed the curry Bruce made. At one point the subject turned to Bruce’s late wife, when Lizzie spoke of what a close family they were. I felt a bit apprehensive about the subject but it passed without incident.

  I explained that I needed the toilet and Bruce directed me down the corridor. Then I got up and tried to find it. Somehow, I’d managed to misinterpret his directions and decided to return to ask for greater clarity.

  As I approached the doorway to the living room, I heard a hushed whisper from Lizzie, “Dad, why did you have to bring that guy over. He freaks me out.”

  “I know he’s a bit unusual but he’s harmless,” Bruce replied.

  “Unusual! That’s putting it mildly. I don’t like the way he hovers around, how he looks at me, the way he talks.“

  “I don’t think he means anything by it. It’s his way. I think he’s just trying to be friendly.”

  “Let’s just cut tonight short, can we?”

  “Ok, just try and be nice. I’ll offer him a ride back to the hotel.”

  I understand, now, why she felt this way. I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but I had been transmitting my own telepathic disorders to anyone with a vulnerability to infection.

  She must have sensed the attack on her system, and her brain would be seeking reasons to avoid me. As a boy I was filled with overwhelming disgust for the old man in the park, and with good reason. I hate that anybody would find me as disgusting as I found him.

  Her words hurt me, and I started to back away quietly in the hope I’d find the bathroom myself.

  Best to pretend I hadn’t heard anything, I though, just find an excuse to get out of here.

  I could feel my face turning red. It would be obvious something was up.

  The choice of how to best handle the situation was taken from me by my own clumsiness. I backed into a mop, which was propped up in the hallway. Total silence hit the living room as it thudded to the ground. That was it, they knew I’d overheard everything. I strode forward and into the doorway, forcing a smile.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. I think I’d better be going.” There was a very noticeable tension to my voice.

  They looked at each other for a moment, then Lizzie said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything bad.”

  I nodded, not shifting my gritted smile.

  Bruce stood up. “I’ll give you a lift back to the hotel. I’m sorry about this, she gets like this with strangers. It’s not just you.”

  “It ok, I’ll walk.”

  “No, it’s far too far. Just let me get my coat.”

  He might have been right. I didn’t have a clue what direction to go in or how far it was.

  I just wanted to hide myself away from anymore awkward moments.

  I stood in the doorway and waited as he rushed into the kitchen. Lizzie was still sat on the couch looking away from me, towards the coffee table. She wore the expression of a child, caught in the act of mischief.

  Bruce came back, hurriedly putting on his coat, and saying, “Really sorry about this. I didn’t want today to go this way, I really didn’t.”

  I nodded and said, “It’s ok, don’t worry about it.” My voice broke up, partway in. It’s hard enough to control emotions when people are rude to you. It’s harder still when they’re apologetic about it.

  As I say, I didn’t understand about my telepathic infection, so I spent the journey, and the rest of the night, wondering what it was about me that could have triggered such a reaction.

  Bruce seemed concerned that it would make things awkward between the two of us and he made the odd clumsy comment in the attempt to heal wounds. I didn’t really blame him, though. I also didn’t want to generate any lasting issues with regards to work. He told me that he’d pick me up for work the next day and I smiled and said, “Sure.”

  That night I finished the last of my ultra minty placebos to help me sleep. They made me feel better.