by David Logan
Just then, Goose became aware of a familiar voice as it penetrated his subconscious.
‘How about you, little lady?’ he heard it say. Goose looked around, following the sound of the voice. He saw a small crowd of people a short distance away. That’s where the voice was coming from. He jumped down from the wall and followed the sound. ‘Thank you very much. I shall look after her. Don’t worry. Interesting fact: if Barbie was life-size she would be thirty-nine …’ Goose pushed through the gathering of people and found himself looking at a street performer. He recognized him immediately. It was Anthony. Goose noticed how Anthony stood out from the people around him. He was scruffy and unshaven. He wasn’t a glowing picture of health. He just looked like a normal person.
‘Anthony,’ called Goose, pleased to see him, but Anthony didn’t respond. Goose realized he couldn’t see him or hear him, just like everyone else.
Anthony was holding a Barbie doll he had borrowed from a little girl in the crowd. He continued:
‘… twenty-three, thirty-three, stand seven-foot tall and have a neck twice the size of an average human’s.’
Just then, a car honked its horn nearby. ‘Most car horns honk in the key of F,’ said Anthony. ‘Sure you’ve always wondered that.’ The crowd chuckled. He had them eating out of the palm of his hand.
Goose saw a small scruffy dog sitting nearby and he gasped. For a moment he was sure it was Mutt. But then the moment passed and he could see it wasn’t. He was very similar to Mutt, but his colouring was a little different. He sat near a large coat and bag. Goose realized it was Anthony’s coat and bag and therefore it was Anthony’s dog.
Anthony put the doll on a rug in the middle of his performance area. There were several objects already on the rug: a hat; a football (which was emblazoned with decals that read: ‘Fifa World Cup New Zealand 2042’) and a ladies’ purse.
‘Right, I need one more thing,’ said Anthony, and he walked around the front of the crowd. He approached Goose, stopped and looked straight at him.
‘How about you, young man?’ he said. ‘Got anything for me?’
‘Anthony!’ said Goose. ‘You can see me?’ Suddenly a hand holding a plastic bottle materialized out of Goose’s chest. It scared the life out of him. He jumped and turned around to see a boy, a little younger than him, holding out a bottle of Coca-Cola. Anthony took it from him.
‘Did you know that Coca-Cola would be green if they didn’t add colouring to it?’
‘Yeah, I did know that actually,’ said Goose.
Anthony returned to the middle of his performance area and picked up all the objects he had gathered from the crowd. He lifted one leg and balanced the football on top of his foot. Then, holding everything else in one hand, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette lighter.
‘Lighters were invented before matches. Not a lot of people know that. And the late, great Sir Lord Michael Caine never said that in any of his films.’
Anthony flicked the wheel of the lighter theatrically and a large flame roared to life. Then he started juggling with the hat and the lighter and the doll and the Coca-Cola bottle and the purse. After a few moments of his audience oohing and ahhing he kicked the football up into the air and it effortlessly joined his juggling objects. The audience clapped and cheered. What a show. Then it all went wrong.
Anthony lost his balance and with it his rhythm. The cigarette lighter bounced off the doll and instantly set it alight. Goose looked at the little girl, whose eyes grew wide with horror as she watched her doll burst into flames.
‘Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!’ shouted Anthony in a panic as he started flailing left and right, trying to keep everything in the air. The fire spread from the doll to each of the other objects in turn until all of them were ablaze. ‘Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Owwww! Owwww!’
Anthony started screaming as if he was being burned alive, and then with an almighty surge of strength he threw all of the objects up and away from him. They were all heading for the audience, who screamed and started to back away, but there was no time. And then, just as the objects were over their heads, they vanished with a puff, and glitter sprinkled over the crowd. It took them a few moments to realize this was all part of the act and they were not about to be engulfed in flames. They looked up at Anthony, who was grinning and brushing the dust off himself. The applause came thick and fast then. Even Goose clapped.
But not everyone was smiling. The little girl who had handed over her Barbie was close to tears. Her bottom lip was wobbling. Anthony looked at her and said, ‘I owe you a doll.’ He paused for effect. ‘Look in your hood.’ The little girl quickly reached behind her and rooted into the hood of her coat. She gasped as she pulled out her doll. It was completely unscathed. The other people who had lent him their possessions searched their pockets and bags and found their items. The applause was even greater.
Anthony pulled out a hat from his overcoat and held it out for donations. Most of the crowd started to drift away without putting their hands in their pockets. This was usually what happened. However, a few members of the audience dropped some cash in. Anthony thanked them as they told him how amazing he was. Gradually the crowd dispersed until Anthony was left alone with his dog and Goose.
As Anthony gathered his things together it began to snow. He threw on his coat. It was heavy and dark blue. Different to the one Goose had seen him wearing before. He pulled up the collar and whistled to his dog. They set off home. Goose, having nowhere else to go, followed …
Suddenly everything changed. Goose was disorientated. A moment ago they had been up on the promenade, and now in the blink of an eye they were making their way through a shanty town. A cardboard city. Goose could still hear the roar of the sea, but he wasn’t sure from which direction the sound was coming. He was aware that there were people all around them, but he couldn’t see anyone. There were small fires burning in large catering-size tin cans and the shadows moved. Even though he was invisible, he sped up to keep close to Anthony.
Anthony found a quiet corner in an alcove and he and his dog settled down for the night. Goose stopped nearby and watched as Anthony rooted through his pockets. He pulled out a small tin of dog food and opened it up. His dog tucked in, wolfing it down. Anthony took out a packet of dry-roasted peanuts and started eating.
‘You’re homeless,’ said Goose as the realization dawned. Then something caught his eye: some graffiti art on a wall nearby. It was an angel with the head of a monkey. Just like Anthony had asked him and Frank about. This must be Anthony’s place. Goose felt terribly sad for his friend.
Anthony finished his peanuts and the dog finished his tin. Anthony wrapped his coat around himself and closed his eyes. The dog curled up next to him.
Then a repetitive sound nearby caught Anthony’s attention. He opened one eye and listened: Clackclackclackclackclack. After a few moments he worked out what it was: the sound of chattering teeth. Anthony looked around, following the sound to its source. He pulled back a piece of cardboard leaning up against the far wall, revealing a young guy, barely twenty years old. The guy backed up, scrambling, scared.
‘I don’t want no trouble,’ he said.
‘Good. Me neither,’ said Anthony. The young guy was shivering violently and little wonder. It was freezing, and the jacket he had on was thin. It was maroon with yellow horizontal stripes and matching yellow trim. On the left breast pocket was a badge. The badge read: ‘My name is Anthony. How can I help?’ Goose recognized it at once and frowned curiously.
‘First night?’ Anthony asked. The young guy, the real Anthony, nodded.
‘Lost me job today,’ he said. ‘Me mam threw me out. Said I was a waste of space just like me dad.’
Anthony stared at real Anthony. It was clear to see how bone-numbingly cold he was. Anthony considered what to do and then took off his heavy coat.
‘Here,’ he said, holding it out. ‘Swap ya.’
Real Anthony didn’t have to be told twice. Instantly he was on his feet.
He pulled his thin jacket off and gave it to Anthony. He grabbed Anthony’s coat and wrapped it around himself.
‘Oh thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!’ He could already feel the warmth soaking into his bones.
‘Just for tonight, you understand,’ said Anthony, pulling on the thin jacket. ‘I want it back in the morning.’
Real Anthony nodded vigorously. ‘Course,’ he said.
‘What’s your name?’ asked Anthony.
‘Anthony,’ replied real Anthony, nodding at the name badge on his jacket. Anthony looked at it and held out his hand.
‘I’m Richard,’ he said, and they shook hands.
Goose looked on. He still hadn’t put all the pieces together. He was surprised to discover that the man he knew as Anthony had the same name as him.
Anthony, real Anthony and the dog all settled down for the night. As Anthony pulled the collar of the jacket shut round his neck a chill wind rattled through the cardboard city. He shivered and tried to ignore it …
Then, just like that, it was morning, which took Goose by surprise. He looked around and realized they were somewhere underneath the Blackpool Tower. He could see it looming above them through gaps in the roof. He heard movement and turned to see real Anthony waking up.
Real Anthony sniffed. His face, particularly his nose, was like ice. He pulled Anthony’s coat around his throat. The rest of him was fine. It took him a few moments to get his bearings and recall the events of the previous night. He looked over at Anthony and his dog. The dog woke up, stretched and yawned.
‘Awright, boy,’ said real Anthony, and reached out to scratch the dog behind his ear. The dog liked it. ‘Hey, errr … Richard?’ said real Anthony, tapping Anthony on the leg. ‘Wake up, mate. It’s morning.’ Real Anthony rubbed his hands together vigorously and blew on them to warm them up. ‘Bloody ’ell, it’s cold!’ He shivered. ‘Don’t know what I would’ve done without your coat. You’re a gentleman.’ Real Anthony turned to Anthony and noticed that he still hadn’t stirred. ‘Richard,’ he said, and tapped Anthony on the shoulder. ‘I got a little bit of money. Not much,’ he said, rooting through his trousers pockets and bringing out a few coins. ‘But enough to buy us breakfast. My way of saying thank you.’ Real Anthony looked over to Anthony, who still hadn’t moved. Goose was looking too, wondering why Anthony wasn’t moving. ‘Mate? Mate,’ said real Anthony more forcefully. As he stared at Anthony’s back, he realized he wasn’t moving at all. There was no gentle rise and fall associated with breathing. Real Anthony scrambled over to him. He saw that there was a blue tinge to Anthony’s lips. ‘Oh no.’
Goose came over. ‘Oh no? What’s “oh no” mean?’ The dog started to paw at his master and whine miserably. Real Anthony turned Anthony over on to his back and put his ear to his chest. He listened intently for a heartbeat but there wasn’t one to be found. Real Anthony leaned back and sighed. He looked down at the dog, who had stopped whining and now had his head and front paws propped up on Anthony’s leg.
‘I’m sorry,’ Real Anthony said to the dog.
Goose stared at the scene playing out before him with a look of incredulity on his face. He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. You can’t be dead …’
And once again everything changed in an instant. Goose was in a back street somewhere in Manchester. He knew it was Manchester instinctively. He heard a commotion behind him and turned to see his Anthony running towards him. He was very much alive. In fact, he looked younger than Goose had ever seen him look. A good five, maybe even ten, years younger.
He raced past Goose, unable to see him. Ten seconds later two burly policemen came thundering after him. They too shot past Goose …
As Goose turned to follow them, he wasn’t in the back street any more. He was in an office somewhere, in the dark.
Suddenly the light from a torch cut through the blackness and Goose saw Anthony crouched by the desk. He was jimmying a drawer open.
‘Ha! You’re a thief,’ said Goose. ‘Pot … kettle … whatever …’
Again everything changed in a flash. Goose was standing outside a dark and imposing redbrick building with two turreted towers at the front. This was H. M. Manchester Prison, also known as Strangeways.
The door opened and Anthony stepped out. He looked younger still. He tossed a hold-all over his shoulder and set off down the street …
Now Goose was sitting on the top bunk in a cramped prison cell. The cell door opened and Anthony walked in escorted by a guard.
‘Welcome to your new home, Thornhill. Dial one for room service.’ The guard chuckled to himself. Goose was frowning.
‘What did you call him?’ asked Goose, but of course the guard didn’t hear him and left. Now the pieces started to coalesce for Goose. His friend didn’t just have the same first name as him but the same surname as well. His name was Richard Thornhill. Just like Goose. How could that be? …
Again everything changed. Goose was in a large bathroom looking at himself in a mirror. There was something institutional about the place. It was white-tiled and grubby. A row of ten washbasins stood between him and the mirrored wall. He realized that his own clothes had changed. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt.
There was movement behind him and two boys about his age appeared. They too were wearing white T-shirts and jeans. Like a uniform. Goose expected them to ignore his presence, but they didn’t. They crowded him, one on either side, and they made eye contact in the mirror. It took Goose by surprise.
‘You got a big mouth, Thornhill,’ said the one on his left.
Goose frowned. ‘You can see me?’
The two junior thugs smirked. ‘Yeah,’ said the one on the right. ‘Guess your invisibility cloak ain’t working, Goose.’
And in that moment, in that second before Goose took a beating, he finally understood: Anthony was him. He was Anthony. They were one and the same person. Always had been, since the first time they met in the park. These two thugs could see him because he was no longer an observer in this dream. This was his dream. This was his life. This was his future …
Before the first punch landed Goose was running down a shopping street. There was a man chasing him and a woman was screaming after him to stop. Goose looked down and saw he was carrying a handbag. He understood he had just stolen it …
Without warning, everything went dark. Light from a torch cut through the darkness. Goose looked through a pair of French windows. The torchlight landed on the arm of a chair where it glinted off Lal’s cobra bangle.
Goose was in the room, standing over the bangle. He reached out and picked it up. He heard a noise coming from upstairs. He turned his head and looked back at the bangle. He remembered this moment like it was yesterday. Wait, it was yesterday.
Everything went black.
23
LAST CHRISTMAS
Goose woke to the distant sound of a dog barking. It wasn’t much of a bark. More of a yip. A yip that belonged to a small dog. A puppy. And not so distant. Actually … close. Very close. In his house close.
Goose pushed himself up on one elbow and listened. His wild, all-over-the-place hair stuck out all over the place. Goose frowned and looked around. This was wrong. This was his old bedroom. He thought he must still be dreaming, but everything was so vivid. He could feel the texture of his duvet between his fingers, and the room smelled exactly as he remembered.
He heard another yip and realized this was the day he first met Mutt, the day he lost his parents. He had dreamed about this day many, many times, but it had never felt quite so real before. The dream was always the same. He would wake up in his bed. Hearing Mutt yipping he would make his way downstairs, but as he pushed the door to the lounge open there would be nothing but blackness, emptiness reminding him how alone he truly was and he would wake up crying. He hated those dreams and this time he wasn’t going to play ball. He turned over and put the pillow over his head to block out the sound. It didn’t really work. As soon as everyt
hing was quiet and still, the yipping, albeit muffled, still penetrated the feather pillow.
Gradually Goose realized something was different. Usually the dream just happened around him. This time he was dictating events. Putting the pillow over his head – he had never done that before. This was lucid dreaming. Must be. He hadn’t thought about that workshop he’d gone to for ages. He sat up. There was yet another yip from downstairs. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but maybe this time it would be different. If he was really controlling it, maybe he could open the lounge door and rather than be met with nothingness he would get to see his mum and dad one more time.
He made a decision. He was going to go for it. He leaped out of bed. Almost immediately he trod on a toy: a Lego model of Imperial AT-ST.
‘OOWWW!’ He fell back on the bed and rubbed the sole of his foot. He looked down at his bedroom floor, which was strewn with pieces of Lego and other toys and he had an incredible wave of déjà vu wash over him. The dream had never been this detailed. And his foot really hurt.
He wanted to get downstairs. He tiptoed across to the door, avoiding the many toy-based hazards along the way, and hurried out into the hallway.